


The Modern Leper

by MinervaNorth



Series: Sing the Greys [2]
Category: Chicago PD (TV)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Forever mad that Mouse left the show, Homelessness, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Missing Scene, Physical Disability, Physical Therapy, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Reconciliation, Suicidal Thoughts, of course there's sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-29 04:31:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 54,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21404236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MinervaNorth/pseuds/MinervaNorth
Summary: "Well I crippled your heart a hundred times and still can't work out why. You see, I've got this disease I can't shake and I'm just rattling through life... I still know that that is you in front of me and you are back for even more of exactly the same. Well, are you a masochist? You love a modern leper on his last leg."Kaitlyn “KC” Cavanagh suffered enough in the past several years: the gunshot wound that sent her home from her eight years in the Army, the kidnapping and murder she narrowly avoided when she made it home to Chicago. But none hurt worse than when her boyfriend Greg “Mouse” Gerwitz decided to break up with her and re-enlist. Now, a year and a half later, after suffering a near death set of injuries in Afghanistan, he’s back in Chicago. KC started to feel like the ghost haunting him instead of how he haunted her.
Relationships: Greg "Mouse" Gerwitz & Original Female Character(s)
Series: Sing the Greys [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1537189
Comments: 9
Kudos: 13





	1. But I hate when I feel like this and I never hated you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the midst of their happiness, Kate realizes how unhappy Greg is in the form of an announcement she had no decision in.

**October 22, 2016**   
**2315 Hours**   
**1111 W 14th Place #122, Little Italy, Chicago**

I hate the feeling that everything is falling apart. I’ve been here before, several times, too many times. I should be out of times by now, but it seems I couldn’t even have this.

I really should have seen it coming. Now that he said it out loud, it was like a rush of realization fell over me. The attitude. The mood swings. The antisocial behavior. I've seen it before in some of my friends overseas when they were missing home. I never thought I would see it in the middle of fall in Chicago.

I hear him speaking, but I can’t seem to understand his words. The first sentence I heard when this feeling set in was “I’m reenlisting.”

I don’t know why he waited until this late to tell me. It’s literally the eleventh hour. We should have talked about this. We should have—we should have discussed it. I feel like I can’t breathe, and it settles over me like a hundred-degree desert heat.

“I’m sorry, Kate. I have to go.”

I’m making myself dizzy, I realize, but I can’t get myself to stop. I’m on my feet. This is wrong. This is all wrong. This is not what we were supposed to be doing. It's almost his birthday, and almost my birthday, and we were happy, Goddammit.

“No. No one is making you go. There’s... no one is making you... Mouse, this is crazy! This is insane. You... you were injured. What about the felony charges?”

“Voight got them dropped. Wiped from my record,” he explains. He's been quiet for the last hour. I should have known this was coming. I should have fucking known. I finally realize I’m up and pacing. I don’t know what’s sweat and what’s tears rolling down my cheeks. The panic attack is setting in and I can’t even make any attempts to slow it down.

“You never even asked. You never talked to me about it.”

“It’s a decision I had to make on my own.”

“Why? Why did you... why is this a you decision? Why can’t this be an us decision?”

He shakes his head. “I have to go. I have to go back—”

“What happened last time you went? You know what happened to you. The nightmares? The drugs? You... you can’t, Mouse,” I plead. “It’ll... it’ll eventually kill you.”

“Being here’s gonna kill me,” he finally snaps. “I feel like...” he drifts, like anything he says is going to hurt my feelings. He’s already hurt me. I don’t know why he’s censoring himself. “There’s... there’s too much noise here.”

“I know about the noise. I know how bad it can be, but that’s why we’re here for each other, right?! There’s more to this. You can’t make a rash decision. We can talk about what this is really about, okay? We can... we can go to Dr. Charles, or... or...”

He just shakes his head. He’s way too calm. This isn’t him. It’s like he changed in a blink of an eye. And I suddenly realize why. “You already did. You’ve already reenlisted.”

And just like that, his facade falls. “I leave next week. My old Sergeant, Ortiz, reached out to me. They need a comm specialist.”

“What?” My voice squeaks. I’m practically pulling out my hair. “Why didn’t you... you just... what the hell is going on? What the hell is wrong with you? Mouse? Say something?”

He sighs. He’s... he gathers his coat, his hat. He’s leaving. He can’t leave. This can’t be the last conversation we have. This is going to be the last conversation we have. I can’t let this be the last thing. What if... what if he goes overseas and doesn’t come back? He’s going to go overseas and never come back. That’s his plan all along.

“You’ve been with me throughout this entire shit show,” I try. “We can get through this. You and I—”

“There is no you and I anymore,” he says quietly. “I can’t make you wait for me.”

“I shouldn’t have to wait for you,” I whisper. “What if you...”

He’s halfway to the door. I don’t know how to stop him. I have nothing else. He just keeps moving.

“Please, Greg.”

“We both knew this wouldn’t last,” he whispers. I think he has tears in his eyes.

“You don’t mean that.”

He chuckles. “You know I don’t.”

“How long have you rehearsed this conversation?”

“A lot.”

“How much of it do you really believe?”

“About a third of it,” he admits.

“There’s nothing I can say to stop you?” I ask, but it’s more of a statement.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

I shut my eyes tight, and he pulls me in for what feels like too final a kiss. He’s gone when I open my eyes. I finally snap out of the flashback induced haze when the dawn comes, and I realize this is my new normal without him.


	2. This is a March death march

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A year and a half later, Kate continues her checks at Landstuhl. This time, though—the near anniversary of her own brush with death—she gets an answer.

**March 5, 2018 **   
**0234 Hours **   
**1111 W 14th Place #122, Little Italy, Chicago**

The cathedral architecture opens wide, into blue, into sky. It looks like sky at first, until I realize it’s just the blue paint on the ceiling. I can smell the smoke. It smells dry, sweet, like gasoline. Can I even feel my hands anymore? I’m hanging from the scaffolding by my wrists again.

How did he find me? He shouldn’t have been able to find me. He’s dead. He should be in Hell where he belongs, not a church. Not desecrating a church. That’s what he was doing, desecrating a church. Why did he pick Saint Boniface? Why did he pick me?

I shake myself awake, suddenly aware that I was almost screaming in my sleep again. I just hope my neighbors don’t complain. The nightmare dissipates quickly as I shake myself from it. Now, what remains is the throbbing headache behind my eyes as I try to remember what I’ve forgotten.

Something is wrong. I know something is wrong, not as a foreboding feeling, but fact. I don't know what it is. God, what the hell was it? I check my phone. It’s not just the dream. I know I’ve forgotten something, but I can't seem to place it.

I see the date and my breath catches in my throat. Sure, not the exact date, but it’s a holiday I could never have back. Two years. Two years since I almost died the second time.

The taste, the bitter taste of dust and blood in my mouth reminds me again of the nightmare, but it doesn’t remind me of what I’ve forgotten.

The date. The date— A year and a half. Dozens of phone calls, and this is the time I forget. It’s past nine a.m. in Germany, so I quickly speed dial the number.

“KC, hey.”

My voice is horse from terror. “Janna… how—how are you?”

I hear a sigh on the other end. “I know it’s like, 2:30 in Chicago, so this is not a courtesy call, and you know it. You're practically panting.”

I run my hand over my face, and the panic washes over me. “I just... you know. Can you... can you check?”

“I always check. You know that. Hang on, I just got on call. I’m getting to the desk now.”

She sets down the phone. I hear it set down on the counter top. I know right where she is: the nurse’s station, four beds down from where I was when I was in Landstuhl.

It’s too quiet in my apartment. I hear my box fan running, trying to keep the ringing in my ears at bay when I sleep. At this time of night, I don't hear much on the street. Just the usual car going by or the sound of someone yelling, drunk and headed back to UIC's campus.

Janna takes a couple beats longer than usual, and I feel the fear welling. I shouldn’t have waited. I shouldn’t have, but she should have remembered. It’s been five days.

She hasn’t come back yet. Why hasn’t she come back yet?

“When’s his birthday?” She asks quietly. She’s never asked me that before. She’s confirming, I realize.

“October 31, 1985,” I say quickly. “Janna…”

“Specialist Gregory James Gerwitz,” Janna seems to read. Her voice shakes.

I pull my legs up to my chest. “He’s there? He’s there at Landstuhl?”

“Came in overnight,” she says. “He’s... he’s in surgery now.”

“Tell me. Tell me what happened.”

She flips pages. “A convoy,” Janna explains. My heart drops. Not again. Not again. He doesn’t deserve this. “IED to the lead, he was in the Humvee directly behind. They engaged with insurgents. One hit the Humvee he was using as cover with a rocket and caused it to explode. That’s all I know.”

“What are his injuries?”

She goes silent for a moment. I can only hear her breathing, turning pages. Pages. “KC, he was right next to it. I don’t know...”

“Tell me. You have... I’ve called for a goddamn year and a half about this. I’ve spent—I’ve spent a year and a half of my life—”

Her voice shakes. I know she’s seen this before, but not like this. Never like this.

“Penetrating frag wounds. Possible TBI. Burns. Collapsed lung. A lot of frag. I don’t know...”

I can finish the rest of her sentence in my head. I don’t know if he’s going to make it.

I stifle the tears and level my voice. “He doesn’t have any family left, Janna. I mean, not that I... that I know of. Can you...can you put me down if...”

Janna flips another page. “You’re already down as his emergency contact.”

I can’t even end the call before I drop the phone. The dream I was having before wasn’t even close to living this nightmare.

* * *

**March 5, 2018 **   
**1010 Hours**   
**University of Illinois—Chicago**

I find myself just staring at my tea, still full, as I try to decide what to do. He left. I have to remind myself that he left. Four months after he took me to the rink, declared his love... he leaves.

My phone buzzes. When I eye it, nearly in fear, I see a text from Sylvie. 

_Got a call near UIC. You around?_

I text her back, even though I don't want to talk to her right now. _Daley_ _Grind_.

It's not long at all before I see Ambulance 61 pull into the parking lot across the street. Illegally, I might add. I still makes me chuckle a little.

"Woah! What's got you down?"

Sylvie slips into the booth across from me, her cheery face almost too much for me to handle. The tears threatened to run down my face already. 

"Woah, Kate. What's going on?"

"I got word today that, uh... that Mouse...."

"Oh my God. Is he okay?"

I breathe. I force myself to breathe through it so I don't lose it. 

"He's at Landstuhl. It's touch and go. They don't think..."

She exhales heavily, her shoulders bowing a little and giving me her pursed lipped expression that usually comes with some Sylvie Brett advice. 

"You need to go to Germany."

I let out a laugh. She looks shocked, but then she continues.

"Kate, you went through the same thing! He needs you now more than ever."

"He left—"

"That's not the point," she chides, listening to her radio. Immediately she starts to get up. "Text me, okay? Keep me update."

I cheers my full cup of tea to her as she runs back out. 

There's no way. Going to Germany would be insane. 

Would it?

* * *

**March 5, 2018 **   
**1507 Hours **   
**University of Illinois—Chicago**

The kids in my Topics in Military History class know something is up. Most of them are juniors and seniors now—a handful of them were in my first classes when I came back to Chicago. Too many of them know too much about me and I don’t think I like it.

I don't know what to do. I don't know what I want to do. I never thought about the possibilities this far. What was I going to do with the information once I got it?

I should go. I should go to Germany. But no—what would I even do there? What would I expect to happen? He left you, KC. He left you behind.

I can't go there. That's a non-starter. I can keep calling Janna. That's the plan. I'll have her keep me updated. That's the only thing I can do right now. That's the best thing I can do right now.

Another convoy. Another bombshell. Another firefight. When will he ever catch a break? I told him how many times to not go. He wouldn't listen. He wouldn't listen to me. Why the hell wouldn't he listen to me?

“Cap. Hey, Cap. Your brain is not on the Siege of Savannah right now,” says Cian Brady. He’s a history major, wanting to get into museum studies. He adjusts his glasses like usually does before one of his mic-drop discussion points, but this time, I’m at the forefront of his attack. “We can keep talking about it if you want to take care of whatever you need to take care of, or we can talk about why you look the way you do.”

Oh. He’s much softer than I expected. Do I look that bad? But he’s one of those kids. He knows. He knows more than I want him to. He remembers the schoolwide scandal: Cutler, the serial killer, killed by the new Veteran history teacher. There wasn’t even a school inquiry. They didn’t even sweep it under the rug. It was quiet, sure, but not ignored. It happened, I happened, and that was that.

Cian checks his phone, but I think he’s just looking at the time. Or the date. His face shifts. “I can do your Casimir Pulaski rant if you’d like,” he adds. “I know it by heart at this point.”

“It’s not… it’s not that,” I say, straightening in my desk chair. I’m supposed to be leading this discussion. I have to do this. “We’re not... we’re not talking about this.”

“You know that’s not true.” Nikolai Mazur. He’s from West Town, a couple of streets down from where Mouse grew up. He's in ROTC. He plans to join up after graduation.

I’m speaking before I think about it. I just look at the carpeted floor.

“It’s not about what happened… it’s not about what happened before. A friend of mine, he, uh. He reenlisted a while back. I heard today he was wounded in action. He's in Germany."

“Is he going to be okay?” Is the first question someone asks. I don’t see who. I’m trying to fight tears. God, this hurts more than I ever thought it would. I never had a plan if this actually happened.

“I don’t know. I honestly... I don’t know,” I say, getting out my phone. I’ve been teaching all day and hadn’t gotten a chance to check it, and they all respect my privacy. They let me check.

I scan through the Facebook messages from Janna Novak. Some of them are a couple of hours apart, but they’re updates.

10:13 a.m.: Gerwitz is out of surgery. They’re not sure...

10:13 a.m.: They don’t know if he’ll be able to walk again. A lot of frag hit his spine. It’s definitely possible, but he’s going to need a lot of physical therapy.

11:34 a.m.: They just put him into an induced coma. Confirmed TBI. They don’t know how much damage yet. Could just be swelling. They’ll give him a couple of days and once it goes down, start pulling him off the meds. But he had a collapsed lung, and he’s on a ventilator. I’ve signed up for a double shift. I’ll be here overnight.

12:45 p.m.: He coded. His heart stopped beating for four minutes. He’s back but I don’t know what to tell you, KC.

2:38 p.m.: I don’t want to be this way but call me when you get a chance. I figure you might have something you want to say to him.

For the first time since I heard, the tears roll down my face. In a quick motion, I wipe the fallen tears and clear my throat.

“You wanna talk about it, or you wanna reboot and move on?” Cian says. He’s always been the outspoken, natural leader. It’s good to see him like this. He’s got a heart.

But I can't. They're young, they're my students. I'm their professor.

But as I look across the room, I see a bunch of kids that know what happened two years ago. They were here when the shit hit the fan. Cian helped me get my lecture hall changed with the administration so I didn't have to go up the stairs. Nik stayed after drills when I started working with ROTC to help my physical therapy. These kids aren't just kids, they're family at this point.

But I can't.

“We’re gonna end class early,” I say. “This isn’t for you, this is for me.”

But I realize none of them move right away. Instead, Cian glances at the clock, then down at his phone.

“If you go now, you can catch a red eye.”

“That’s… that’s absurd,” I fumble, trying to regain some sort of composure. “I… I can’t. I can’t do that. I can’t.”

He gets up, so the rest of the class starts to clear their desks.

“You could get Dr. Washburne to cover your classes,” Nik suggests. “He’s got this major crush on you.”

“Wait, what?”

They don’t answer. Instead, they leave, one by one. I’m left with just my phone, staring at the last message that Janna sent me about fifteen minutes ago.

“Cap?” Brenda McAfee’s at the door. She leans towards me, although she’s twenty feet away from me, and says in a low voice, “I... I remember him.”

“You… you remember him?”

“From my freshman year. You’re talking about… about your boyfriend, right? You would only call him Mouse. He talked to me one day. I think it was the class you went on your first Pulaski rant.”

The tears start running down my face again. I rush to wipe them away.

“Cian’s right, you know. I don’t know what happened between you two, but I would want someone like you there.”

God, I hate myself for this. Part of me wants to let it in the past. I just want to let it go, forget about everything that happened before, but then I would have to stop calling and checking.

Why the hell, if I wanted to let things go, would I keep calling and checking on him? I didn’t have to. No one was making me.

But God. He just left. He left with no good reason, in my opinion, but despite my repeated attempts, he still felt like he had to go.

He’s in Germany. He’s in Germany, alone, like I was almost three years ago.

I didn’t deserve it then, and he doesn’t deserve it now.

Before I realize it, I’m struggling to push all my books together, my laptop, and I’m on autopilot to my office. Dr. Washburne says hello to me as I breeze by, but I don’t hear him at first; he appears at my doorway.

“Kaitlyn, are you—”

I dump my bag out, leaving a few pens crashing to the floor. I don’t bother to pick them up. Dr. Washburne struggles to help, and only manages to pick up after me.

“I need your help. I… I… my friend, he’s in a military hospital in—in Germany. I need to go. I—I…” I look down at my hands. They’re shaking like they used to.

“Say no more,” he says, pointing to a notebook on my desk. It’s hanging precariously off the edge. “Is this—”

“Lesson plans. Most of them, at least. My Chicago classes, they might need guidance, but my upper levels can lead their own discussions. I… I really appreciate this. More than you realize.”

I breeze past him, then realize I forgot my laptop charger. I slip into my office, pull it violently out of the wall by the cord, and pass Washburne again, still clutching my notebook tightly to his sweater vest. Before I leave, I kiss him on the cheek.

I toss my bag over my shoulder and immediately hop on my bike. My mind is racing. Do I have the money for this flight? Do I even care? I can slip into my savings. It’s fine. I can make it happen. I...

Jay doesn’t know. I never told him. This entire time, this entire day—it takes me three minutes to make it to the police station. The personnel has changed, but at least Trudy has stayed the same. I think when she sees my face, she immediately calls for Jay and automatically opens the gate.

I head up the stairway, tracing my hand over the wood. The wall of badges bears down on me, accusingly. We fought in this stairway. I decided to sacrifice myself in this stairway. And once I get to the top, I look to the right. The first time I saw Mouse was in this stairway.

His desk is still there. Empty, unmoved, slightly dusty. No one had filled his place. No one could fill his place.

Jay hangs up his phone and starts towards me. When we finally make eye contact, when he starts towards me, the bullpen falls into a hush.

“What’s going on? You okay?” Jay says. I bite back my lip, but it’s over. I see all their worried faces and the tears start rolling again. My fingers disturb the dust on the fake wood desktop. Instead, Jay takes my arm, leading me into the break room. I don't think it's going to help much in keeping the story quiet.

“I’ve been in contact with… with a nurse, over in Landstuhl,” I begin. I see the blood drain from his face immediately. He already knows what I've found out by the look on my face.

“What happened?”

“A convoy,” I say, but my voice breaks. “IED to the lead, gunfight. Rocket to his Humvee. It exploded.”

“God dammit, I told him,” Jay says, holding a hand to his head. He does a slow three-sixty as he tries to process. “How bad?”

“Jay, she doesn’t think he’s gonna make it.”

I see the tears welling in his eyes before he swallows hard and wipes the emotion from his face.

“I’m running home, and I’m getting a go-bag, and then I’m going to Germany,” I say, with a lot more strength in my voice than I expected. It's the first I've really heard myself voice my plan out loud. “If he’s… if he—I’m not going to let him be alone. I don't care how much of an asshole he was. He doesn't deserve to be alone.”

He turns, holding a hand out, making me wait. I follow after him, out of the break room, until I stop in front of the old desk. There’s not a lot left, but I notice a faded yellow Post-It note, slipping beneath the keyboard.

“What’s goin’ on?” Ruzek finally asks, and I’m brought back to reality.

I try to clear my throat, but it feels like there’s something lodged in there. I talk through it.

“I just got word that Mouse was transported to Landstuhl. The Army hospital in Germany.”

“He okay?” Atwater says, but I wipe my eyes as best I can.

“Uh, no, Kevin, he’s… he’s not.”

Silently, as is his usual way, Al gets up from his desk and pulls me into a hug. It's so casual, so normal, that it almost makes me break. He knows. He knows what's up, almost as much as Jay does. I'm just doing my best, and Al's embrace locks me into my decision.

Jay steps out of Voight’s office with a purpose, leans over the new girl, Hailey, and grabs a duffel bag. I quickly let Al go, giving him a kiss on his cheek.

“I’m comin’ with you,” he says, as a way to announce to the bullpen and me in one fell swoop.

I nod once, and he quickly gives Hailey an update on whatever case they were working on. I lean over the desk, and I pull the Post-It I saw from its dusty home.

MOUSE!!

Kate_—call her back _

And a poorly drawn picture of a shamrock.

It’s in his horrible penmanship and his chaotic way of remembering things. I slip it into my pocket, trying not to dwell on it, taking it with me as Jay and I silently head towards my apartment and then O’Hare. I message Janna before takeoff.

6:12 p.m.: Landing at Frankfurt at 0935. We’ll get a car there and be down around 1130.

Her response comes quickly, even though I expect her to be asleep:

6:13 p.m.: You’re coming to Germany? Who is coming with you?

6:13 p.m.: My best friend Jay. He was in the same unit as Greg.

6:14 p.m.: I’ll make sure you’re both on the list.

Once I shut my phone off, and take off starts, I try to run the entire day through my head. As I do, I realize I’m crying once more. I can’t make it stop, but at least they’re quiet tears. Jay clears his throat. He had luckily switched seats with the guy next to me, sliding into the window seat, but I don’t know if it was better or worse.

“How did you find out?”

“I told you. The nurse at Landstuhl.”

“How do you…” He seems to answer his own question, but it lingers in the air anyway.

“She was on duty when I was recovering,” I explain. “She was from Cleveland. Janna Novak. We stayed in contact, mostly through Facebook. She’s still working in the hospital over there.”

“And she just happened to call you?” I don’t like his tone. It’s both accusatory and confused. I can’t quite blame him, though. He doesn’t know what I’ve been doing. He has no idea. This conversation has been off limits for a long time.

“Jay, I’ve been calling for months,” I confess, staring at the back of the airplane seat in front of me. I don’t want to look at him. I’m afraid to admit my pessimism. “Ever since he left, I’ve been calling Janna twice a month. For the last eighteen months. And this month I forgot, and I woke up this morning and called her. And that’s when she checked.”

He takes a moment to respond. “All this time, since he left, you’ve been checking.”

“Of course, I have,” I say. “I feel… I feel like I’ve been having an anxiety attack for a year and a half, and all that panic finally culminated into the one thing I feared the most.”

“I told him, Kate,” he says, setting his jaw and crossing his arms. “I told him it would just lead to depression, not sleeping. The pills…”

We both sit back. I realize it’s been a year and a half, and we’ve never talked about this. Why should we? He’s just another friend we’ve both lost. He’s another friend we get to watch die.

“Did he tell you there was too much noise?” I say over the hum of the plane.

Jay just sighs. “Mouse… he never dealt well with the shades of gray. You know he liked things black and white. He should have listened to me. He could have stayed. He could have stayed in Chicago. He should have stayed in Chicago. With us. With you.”

“I don’t know if he could have,” I say. I haven’t been able to see straight for a while now. The tears have clouded my eyes. It might also be the exhaustion. “We were always living on borrowed time.”

“I know a thing or two about borrowed time,” he whispers.

“I miss her, too.”

“Do you ever hear from her?” He asks.

“A couple times. She left this life behind, Jay. And you know Erin. When she makes a decision, that’s it.”

“Sounds like Mouse.”

“We sure can pick them.”

He chuckles once. It’s all I can get out of him right now.

“What did your friend say happened?”

I straighten in my seat, any bit of humor sucked out of the cabin with those few words.

“He was apparently in a convoy. Second Humvee. The first took an IED, and then they started a firefight with insurgents. When one of them hit the Humvee with a rocket…”

“How bad?”

“Jay, please.”

“How bad? I wanna know. I have to know before we get there.”

“Frag wounds. I don’t know how bad. TBI. They put him in an induced coma. Burns, she said. A collapsed lung. He was in surgery for a long time. I just… she wasn’t optimistic. And trust me when I say Janna is an optimistic person. Around noon our time, he… he coded. Four minutes, Jay. He was gone four minutes.”

He stares out the window for a long while. I go for my phone, and when I do, I find the Post-It note still in my pocket. I look it over again, running my finger over the indentations of his heavy penmanship. I can tell it’s from those particular pens he liked. The shamrock started okay, but the heart shaped leaves quickly became offset as he tried to fix the permanent ink.

Of course, Jay notices.

“What is that?”

“I found it under the keyboard. At your office. Not your office, I mean. His... his old desk. You really haven’t found anyone to take over after a year and a half?”

“No one like him,” Jay mutters. He takes it, looks over it, and then hands it back to me. “He couldn’t remember for shit. God, he would have Post-Its everywhere.”

I trace my thumb over the askew heart shaped sketches.

“You…” It’s like he doesn’t want to say it out loud. “I know you haven’t dated since…”

“No, Jay. I haven’t.”

“Why not?”

“We both know a thing or two about jarring exits, don’t we?” I ask. It’s not really a question that needs answering. “I never really had time to process it. I guess I never wanted time to process it.”

“Did you ever call him? Write to him?”

“I couldn’t. He just… it was so abrupt. One minute, we’re comfortable, and the next, he’s telling me he needs to go back and be a soldier. I don’t get it. I don’t understand. I never understood. And now I’m afraid I’m not going to understand. Jay, what if he...”

“He’s going to be okay. We’re going to get him through this.”

I realize Jay is still taking about him in present tense. I don’t know how much longer he has of that. I’m trying to be optimistic, I really am, but as I look out the window, past Jay, past the ocean I know that will be beneath us soon, I just worry he’s gone.


	3. I've no breath left, you cold breath thief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Landstuhl, Germany. Kate never wanted to go back. She never wanted a reason to go back. But now, the only reason she would return is in an impossible coma.

**March 6, 2018**   
**1114 Hours**   
**Landstuhl, Germany**

It's been a long time since I've had a memory fueled nightmare. Honestly, it's been about a year since I even dreamed of Nangalam, of the house, of the women, of the gunshot. Something about going back, it seems, just makes it all come flooding back.

I just know that Jay had to gently push me awake as the plane landed, and a few of the people surrounding us had made attempts not to look. I don't want to know, and I don't ask.

As soon as we get out of the airport, we get a car, and we're silently on our way. We finish the drive from Frankfurt to Landstuhl in record time—with Jay driving, of course. The closer we get, the worse I start to feel.

It was November the last time I was here. Then, it was cold, and everything was dead. Now, it’s spring. I can’t imagine how the trees can burst to life like this. I can’t begin to understand why the world isn’t falling apart around us.

I never forgot how that building looked. It hasn’t changed. I just shoulder my bag and start towards the main doors, the doors I said I would never go through again. Jay’s half a step ahead of me. He knows I’m hesitant. It’s been almost a decade for him, but it’s still raw for me. I can taste the iron in my mouth.

“Kate, you coming?” I have to read his lips.

For a moment, I can feel the pain in my shoulder. I know it's a ghost-pain. It's a suggestion. It's what I felt here, so visceral, now just a memory, albeit a strong one.

I push past him and into the main lobby. Janna is already waiting. She gives me a tight hug, and I introduce Jay, but I can’t hear myself speak. I can only hear my heart beating in my chest, forcing itself into my throat.

Half of me, as we step down the hallway, wants to run. I shouldn’t have come here. I shouldn’t have come, I should have let this all go, I should have—

And there’s the other half of me sneaking in. I should have never let him leave. But there’s no telling him what to do. He was just too damn proud. Was? Is. I can't bury him yet.

We head down the Intensive Care wing. It’s got a new coat of paint, but it still smells the same. I hear my heartbeat in my ears.

“He’s stable right now,” she says, lowering her voice as we slow down in front of one of the rooms. “They still have him in an induced coma. I’m... I’m glad you came for him, KC.”

I don’t say it, but I still haven’t decided if this was a good idea. Regardless, I slip into the hospital room, and it’s too late for me now.

I don’t want the last image I have of him in a coma, in a hospital bed that’s too old and shouldn’t be in use, on a ventilator because he can’t breathe on his own. I can’t see him. I barely recognize him.

Jay takes a sharp breath behind me. Both of us feel the weight at the same time.

I have to sink onto the sofa next to me. I have to, because my legs give out. The tears come again, but this time, they’re loud. I almost scare myself. The sounds of my sobs echo down the hallway. I’m sure it’s nothing new, but I can’t stop. This time, I don’t want to stop.

He’s not coming back from this, I realize. He’s never coming back from this. I had a chance. I don’t think he ever did. I’m not sure what was worse, trying to bring him back, or not giving him the chance to die in the Sandbox. That’s what he always wanted.

I don’t know why. I still don’t know why he had to go. Wasn’t I enough? Wasn’t what we had enough? We were happy, dammit, until suddenly we weren’t.

He was the only one that knew how to deal with me.

_I realized I would be completely lost without you_ he had told me once. Months before he left.

Jay tells me to breathe. All I can do hold my shaking hands to my face.

This can’t be real. I refuse to believe this is real. This is a nightmare. I had been having a nightmare before. It’s a vivid nightmare. I’m going to wake up in the morning and everything will be fine. It’s going to be fine.

I definitely have a problem. It just kicked in, as the dizziness threatens to make me throw up. Jay kneels down in front of me, grasping my knees. I lean forward and I hear him speaking to me, but I can’t make sense of the words.

I can’t see Mouse anymore. Jay blocks my sight of him. Maybe if I can’t see him, I can go back to pretending. I’ve been awake for almost thirty-six hours off and on. I’m not used to it like I was before. I’m hallucinating or something, I have to be, I have to be—

“Kate!”

Jay clutches my shoulders. He drives his palms in, and the brief shooting of pain forces me to clear my head. He stops as quickly as he started, but still keeps a steady hand on my arms. I grab onto his hands, and he lets go of my shoulders, grasping my hands.

“You’re having a panic attack. You need to breathe slowly, or you’re going to pass out. Can you do that? Can you breathe with me?”

I hang my head, trying to force my breathing to happen half as quickly, but he pushes my chin up and kisses me on the forehead. Exhausted, both of us, from the last day and a half, he pushes me over and sits next to me, pulling me into him as the tears continue to roll down my face. I don’t think they’re going to stop any time soon.

For the longest time, I watch the machine breathe for him. I don’t know how long it is before I fall asleep.

* * *

Janna wakes me up sometime in the afternoon. She’s careful, she doesn’t wake Jay, and pulls me out of the room to talk.

“I don’t know what your plans are or how long you’re staying—”

We had bought one-way tickets. I don’t have a plan. I don’t have a vague semblance of a plan. “We haven’t even thought that far.”

“We’ve got a deal struck with a hotel across the street. If you head over there later there’s a room for you.”

I just rub my eyes. “Janna, I...”

“You’ve been through enough,” she says. “It’s the least I can do.”

“It’s been over a day. Do they really think... do they think he’s got a chance?”

“The first day is the hardest,” Janna says, clutching a file tightly. She looks back to the nurse’s station like she should be back there, but then turns back to me like I’m more important. “But the brain injury is what worries me. That’s what the coma is for. If they can stop the swelling, bring him out of the coma safely, he’s got a chance. But he’s got another surgery on the books this week, and that worries me, too. There’s a lot up in the air. I’m sure you realize that.”

“I hate this.”

“We’re not meant to like it. But I know whether you realize it or not, he’s going to improve just from you being here.”

I look back. I shouldn’t have, but I do, and I have to suffer the consequences. “I don’t know if it’ll help or hurt.”

“What happened between you two?”

I don't even know, but I can't say that. I look back again. Each time the horror fades a little. I suddenly realize how much I've missed him. "I... I knew him from when I got back to Chicago."

“C’mon, KC. You’ve called diligently for the last year and a half about this guy. You don’t think I couldn’t piece it all together?”

I lean against the door frame, watching the two of them rest. Jay needs the sleep, I know that much. The nightmares have been coming back lately. I can relate.

“When I came back, after... well, after this, I had nothing. I just went back to Chicago hoping I would have something there, waiting for me. I ended up with my best friends from... well, forever. Will and Jay." I gesture to the sleeping figure of the younger Halstead still curled up on the sofa. “They... they took me in. They got me sorted out. And then Jay introduced me to a buddy of his.”

“Greg,” Janna says. “You guys dated.”

“For a while, at least,” I say. I decide to omit my second near death experience. “He helped me get over some of my shit. I thought I was helping him with his. We made a go of it. We were happy. I mean, I thought we were. It was barely a year until he was telling me he had to go back to the Sandbox. About a year after I got shot. Honestly, I told him he didn’t have any good reasons, but it was what he wanted. He broke up with me and left.”

She just grasps my hand, and I let her. She wants to help, I know that much, but I can’t help but think the last time I saw her was when I was in these rooms myself. She murmurs something about having to go on rounds, so I told her we would be back in the morning.

“Jay. Jay, wake up.”

I nudge his hip and he shakes awake as I shoulder my bag.

“What’s up?”

“We’re goin’ nuts here, we’ve got a room in the hotel across the street.”

He just follows orders, grabbing his own duffel. It would be nice to get a shower, at least.

But when I try to sleep, the only thing I can see when I close my eyes is the image of him in that bed, all the cords and tubes keeping him alive.

I don’t sleep.

* * *

The next morning, we’re both up before dawn breaks. Without a word, we both go for a run—although I’m still slow, with my knee the way it is—swap time in the shower, and get ready to head over.

While I’m waiting for him, I take a moment to check my email. Washburne says my classes are going fine, and that he hoped everything was okay. It’s such a gentle but wasted sentiment.

I’ve got one from Cian. He gives a report about what they talked about in class, and how they’ve got their marching orders and would keep going with their discussion points. Regardless of how serious this all was, he did add a note that he was happy I took his advice.

The last email is from Dr. Charles. I forgot to check in with him this week, and he’s asking how I am. Apparently, neither Jay or I thought to tell Will what happened. I realize why Dr. Charles is being so protective— I see the date on my phone. March 7. Two years. It’s been two years since my most recent near-death experience.

I email Dr. Charles back with a blind CC to Will. Maybe it’s lazy, but it’ll be easier this way.

_Dr. Charles—_

_Sorry I missed my appointment this week. I should have let you know sooner, but so much happened in a short amount of time and I’m still trying to catch up._

_Mouse was wounded in action earlier this week. He’s currently in Landstuhl, but due to the extent of his injuries, they’re not optimistic about his odds. I flew into Germany last night with Jay. I don’t know how long I’m going to be here—it truly depends on his condition—but I will touch base with you when I get home._

_Got any advice in the interim? Sorry, I’m trying to be optimistic, I really am, but it’s hard._

_KC_

It takes about two minutes for me to get a response. It’s from Will. He's either still awake or on the night shift.

_Why didn’t you call? Are you doing okay? That’s a stupid question. I’m sorry. I wish you had told me. I know there’s not much I can do right now, but keep me posted._

_Love you—Ginger_

I’m not in the mood to email him back. Instead, I quickly shoot an email to Sylvie, giving her the update as well, but I don't wait for a response, which is fine, since Jay’s ready. We made the ten-minute walk towards the hospital, and I try to steel myself.

How long can we be here? How long before... I can’t slip into that line of thinking. It was barely eight in the morning. I had a long way to go still.

One thing was for certain: I can't be here if or when he wakes up. Jay doesn't know that yet, and that's fine; it's something I decided long before we landed in Germany. Him knowing I came would only make matters worse, but Jay didn't need to know that quite yet.

When we get there, Janna’s already up and on duty, like I expected. Nothing has changed, she said. Not today, at least. But he hasn’t gotten any worse.

The first hour is silence. It’s silence, punctuated by the sound of his aspirator. I don’t know what’s worse: the sound of the machines, or the silence caused by Jay and I, two emotionally stunted former soldiers who couldn’t seem to carry on a normal conversation to pass the time.

We sit like that for what feels like hours, lost in our own thoughts, until Jay gets a call.

“It’s work,” he says, standing up and heading for the door. “This might be a while.”

I start to protest, trying to tell him about international charges or not leaving me alone in this place, but it doesn’t stop him.

I look back to Mouse. I don’t know if he’s even here anymore. How does that work, really? Is he aware, or is it all just this elaborate dream? I had heard about comas. They would ramble, some of them having just a hint of meaning. I wonder if he ever dreamed of me.

I pull the chair setting against the wall closer to him. The closer I get, the more my heart hurts, but I refuse to let it stop me. Jay’s not in the room, so I feel like I can.

Before I can stop myself, I take his hand. His fingertips are among the only things I feel like can safely reach right now. Even they feel cold.

“I'm still teaching at UIC,” I say, running my thumb over his knuckles. “They hooked me up with the ROTC program there. The one I went through. Pulled some strings, but they’re letting me teach now. I really don’t want to go anywhere else, you know? Jay... Jay and Will are there. You... you should be there, too.”

I let go of his hand and lean on the side of the bed. I start counting the floor tiles.

“I started going back to church after you left. St. Gabriel’s. You know, where I went to elementary school?... it’s weird being alone and going. And being an adult. It’s smaller than I remember."

I look back to him. Nothing has changed. I'm afraid nothing is ever going to change with him anymore. I can't. He's always moving, always nearly hyperactive. This isn't who he is. This isn't the man I had been in love with.

I don't know why, I don't know if I'm just drawn to it, but I go into my bag and find the small box holding my rosary. It feels better when it's in my hand.

But I push forward. "Oh, and if I wasn’t busy enough, I joined a hockey league. A lot of them are supposed to be co-ed, but the A league teams are mostly guys. I’m the only girl on our team, to be honest. We’re the North Side Valentines. You... you remember. After you left, I tried out. I’m their power forward and enforcer. I know what you're going to say. 'You're gonna get yourself hurt, Kate'." I can hear his voice in my head, I can see the over-confident smirk that quickly becomes a flustered mess when I so much as call him on it.

"I'm not going to hurt myself. I wear pads, you know," I respond to the Mouse in my head. It feels real. It feels like home again. I keep going. "Goop usually covers defense, and he works best with Raz. Murf and Chicks are the best, in my opinion. I take a lot less hits when they’re in defense. AK and Laser, they’re on left forward, Dags and Kilts are on right, and Howie covers for me when I’m in the penalty box. We only have one goalie right now, Edger, but we’re looking for another one.”

“What’s your nickname?”

I jump at Jay’s voice. I don’t know how long he’s been standing there, but apparently, long enough.

“What’s your weird hockey nickname?” He repeats, crossing his arms. I know he’s not going to let me leave without sharing.

“Tilly,” I grumble. “Full Tilt Tilly.”

“Oh, yeah? Why’s that?”

"Don't mess with me. You know what it means."

"Your nickname is literally hockey slang for a fight," He accuses.

"You act like you're surprised," I snap. “Sorry, I just...”

“You got your rosary out." He pulls himself off of the door frame and sits down on the couch.

"Yeah. Yeah, I think I'm... I think..."

"Want me to do it with you?"

Between the memory of two years ago and the image in front of me, I know he’ll do whatever he can to help.

"I would like that."


	4. Even now, when asleep, I’ll tread with care

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kate's reputation precedes her, but it's not enough to keep her in Germany.

**March 8, 2018**   
**1445 Hours**   
**Landstuhl, Germany**

When Thursday night rolled around, Janna warned me about what had to happen on Friday: he was going, very early, back into surgery and wouldn’t be out until late afternoon.

I didn’t want details. I didn’t want to know more than I had to.

I just took to pacing the hallways of the ICU. I don’t know what to do, really. I know what surgery means: he’s either going to pull through, or he doesn’t. It’s that simple. It’s a fact that I’m going to have to face.

I’m not just his emergency contact, Janna reminded me. I’m on his paperwork. I’m the one he put down in case this all goes to shit. Meaning I’m going to be the one to have to make decisions if this goes from black and white into gray.

He would hate it even more if I forced him to hold on for my own benefit.

But my mind just runs through the possibilities: I would be in charge of everything. It would be my responsibility to carry out any items in his will. And what about arrangements—

“Excuse me, ma’am—”

I nearly run into a man turning the corner since I hadn’t been paying attention. He walks with a cane in one hand and the other in a sling; he straightens immediately and gives me a nod.

“I’m sorry, sir, I wasn’t paying attention,” I say, trying not to look over the tall Hispanic.

“No, no. It’s my fault. They make me go on these walks now that I’m up, and I just manage to run in to people. Again, I’m sorry, ma’am.”

I force a smile and start to walk away, but it eats at my brain. A careless detail, something Greg mentioned years ago. “Do... do you mind if I walk with you for a while?”

He didn’t make it far. He does, though, let himself a wide smile. This one is genuine.

“Absolutely, ma’am.”

I close the steps between us and take his cane, offering my arm instead. We make it almost all the way down a hallway before he speaks again.

“You know, I’ve been here for around three days now and you’re the first non-active duty person I’ve seen.”

I don’t make eye contact with him. “How did you know I served?”

“C’mon. You can’t tell me you can’t see it, too.”

“I spent my fair share of time here in Landstuhl,” I admit, and his slight humorous demeanor falls a little. He's silent for a long time. But if I want him to speak, if I want to confirm my fears, I'm going to have to open up to him. “Couple of years ago, I got wounded in action. Uh, I was in Nangalam. I worked as an attaché, talking to women. We got bombed out. I was stuck in a collapsed building with some of the women until someone… I don’t know who they were anymore, Taliban, ISIS… they finally found us about a day and a half later and shot me. Woke up here,” I say. Although part of me says to not ask, to not say anything because details wouldn’t be good for me right now, it comes out of my mouth. “What got you sent here?”

He sighs, and we turn the corner at the end of the hallway. It takes a few more steps for him to answer.

“I made a bad call. My tac team was headed through Helmand Province. I should have seen the signs. But the first in the convoy went down, and we were engaged. I don’t remember much after the explosion.”

“How many of your men are here?” I ask, although I try to hide my face. I can feel the tears already starting to well.

“There were twelve of us in three Humvees. Five of us are left.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so… I’m sorry,” I murmur. I never even considered the death toll.

He recovers. “The four of us that took cover from the last Humvee, and one from the second. That’s all we have left.”

“How... how are they doing?”

“Me and two others are about the same. One of them took two bullets, but he’s recovering. Our man from the second Humvee is in rough shape.”

I swallow hard. I remember my training. Keep it together.

“What are their names? Maybe I can visit them later.”

He seems to be in decent spirits. “Quinn is down the hall. He’s quiet. He may not take to you. Gerwitz, though, he would like you, if you could get a word in edgewise.”

“He talk a lot?” I say. My jaw is set tight. I’m afraid if I shift, I’ll break some of my teeth.

“He's our comm specialist, it's his job to talk. He would tell these stories about this girl he left back home. I swear, the stories got weirder and weirder. Hey. Did I say something wrong?”

I gently let go of him and sink into the sitting area outside the lounge where we had stopped. He slips into the chair next to me, patiently watching me sob. When it finally starts to subside, he speaks again.

“You’re Cavanagh, aren’t you? Kate.”

The blood rushes from my face. “Ortiz. He... he talked about me?”

“Constantly,” he says. “The way he talked about you, we ran him shit about not calling or writing. God, is it true you killed a serial killer while he had you tied up and shot?”

In the midst of my crying, I start laughing.

“Seriously, is he fucking with me, or is he telling the truth?”

“It’s the truth, Ortiz, seriously, but there’s more to the story than that—”

“Kilbride owes me ten bucks,” he mutters, then adds something in Spanish I'm unfamiliar with. “We ran him shit all the time about the stories he would tell.”

“What else did he say?”

“You got a Gordie Howe hat trick in high school? Whitney seemed to know what he was talking about, but none of us did.”

“It’s a hockey thing,” I say. “A goal, an assist, and a fight in one game. Broke a girl’s collarbone before prom. I got suspended for the season and a concussion.”

He just leans back in his chair. “You’re tellin’ me his stories were true?”

I lean into him. “All true,” I whisper. “Probably. Well, honestly, I don’t really know. I haven’t talked to him in a year and a half.”

“Why not?”

“That’s something I’m not sure I can answer.”

He goes to stand up and offers me his uninjured hand. “Then you should be back in his room, not pacing the hallways with me.”

I take his hand and he helps me up, so I make sure I help him walk back to his room. When we make it to the junction in the hallway where we met, he stops.

“Gerwitz... he was always eager to please in the field. It was like he always had something to prove, like he wasn’t good enough. I don’t think that came from you, but it came from something. I’m afraid if he gets through this, he’s going to fall into that line of thinking again, and he’ll never get out of it, because he’s going to be unfit for service. He’s a good soldier, but he’s a great guy. I think he just needs someone to remind him of that.”

I look down the hallway, but it spins a little. The checkered floor makes me dizzy. At least, I think it's the checkered floor.

“I tried, Ortiz. I tried for so long, but I don’t know what happened. Maybe I wasn’t good enough for him.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“You barely know me.”

“I feel like I do, Cavanagh.” He takes back his cane, leaving anything else I could say on the tip of my tongue.

* * *

Later that afternoon, Jay takes a break from sentry watch so I settle in with one of my textbooks until I realize—I pull out the Post-It note I had been using as a bookmark.

The yellow had faded, but the black scrawl hadn’t. I study it: his nickname, in block letters, gone over several times like a ransom note. The overly large exclamation point. The intentional underlines under each word: call her back. The horrifically drawn shamrock, with scribbled pen as an attempt to fix the proportions.

“I don’t remember what you wanted to talk about that day,” I admit, running my fingers over his note. “I wish I did. Why did I call you? When was this? Would you even remember? What did you want to say so badly that you left yourself a note? Was it something you wanted to talk about, but kept putting it off? What did you want to say to me, Mouse?!”

I know I’m not going to get a response, but it still hurts when I don’t. I clutch my necklace to try to find solace in the cross shape, but I'm just reminded of where I got it and have to let it go.

“I talked to your commanding officer earlier. You told your team tall tales of me. Apparently, I’m some sort of legend. Why? Why did you decide to turn me into a legend? I didn’t do anything cool. Maybe a few times, but really?”

I know he’s not going to respond, but for a moment, it feels like he might. I can hear his voice: ‘Dammit, KC, you’re cooler than you think. Remember how we snuck into the UIC Pavilion during the Cure concert with twenty bucks and your I.D.?’

If I close my eyes, I can hear him singing slightly off key: ‘Monday, you can fall apart, Tuesday, Wednesday, break my heart, oh, Thursday doesn’t even start, it’s Friday, I’m in love’.

He took me to Frightened Rabbit concert a couple weeks later since I had no knowledge of the Cure at all. He was surprised how much he liked them, I remember.

“You should have been telling them stories about when we broke into the ice rink at Millennium Park or when we moved me into my new apartment and never went to sleep, so we decided to go on a run and ended up watching the sunrise on the 31st Street Beach. Or... or what about the things we never got to do? I was going to teach you how to properly play hockey. Or something like it, anyway.

“I wish... I wish you could come to one of my games now. Watch me properly kick ass. Or just... I miss you, Mouse. I miss you. There. I said it. I can’t move on because I can’t let go of you. What is it you want me to do? Tell you it’s okay to go? Because it’s not. It’s not okay. You’re supposed to be in Chicago. With me. We’re supposed... we should..."

I swallow the pain. “I miss my Mouse. But I know now I’m never going to get him back.” I’m making the decision before I even know it’s in my brain. “Once I know you’re okay, I’m going home. Once I know you’re going to make it. I... you’ll know where to find me. If you want me back in your life, you can come find me.”

I shake my head, still grasping the Post-It note. “I just wish... I wish I knew what this conversation was about. I wish I could remember all of it, really. Had I known...” my voice catches and I hate myself for it. “Had I known our days were numbered, I would have taken care to enjoy them for a little longer.”

I try to focus on reading anything in my textbook, but I zone out into a memory and choose to stay on the small pier, looking at the sunrise over the lake with Mouse for a while.

* * *

**March 9, 2018**  
1714 Hours  
Landstuhl, Germany

Jay and I catch an early dinner. The entire day had been quiet: it was the day of his surgery. There wasn’t much more to discuss, really, except the one thing that had been on my mind.

“If... if this surgery goes well, and they plan on taking him out of the medically induced coma, I’m going to head home.”

Jay nearly snorts his water. “Wait, what? You’re kidding me, right? You came all this way—all this time, and—and you’re just going to leave?”

I listen to his brief rant, but I know I’ve already made my choice. “I can’t be here when he wakes up,” I say. “I just... I need to know that he will, and then I’m leaving.”

“You can’t do that to him. Someone has to be here.”

“You can stay if you want.”

He sighs. He knows he can’t let me go by myself. The last time I traveled by myself, I ended up in a six-car pileup that resulted in a man becoming obsessed with me and trying to kill me.

“We can’t be a part of this. He can’t know we came.”

“Why not?”

“You really think he would like it? Remember what he did to us?”

“Suddenly, there’s a chance he might pull through this, and you want to bail on him. I don’t get you, Kate.”

“He bailed on us,” I say. “I did my duty. I did what I had to do. I made sure he would make it through this. And now... now my job is over and it’s time to go home. He made his choice, and so did we, remember?”

He doesn’t talk to me the rest of the way through dinner until we head back to the hospital. I’ve already got my bag packed, whether Jay likes it or not. It takes her a half hour to finally report to us how the surgery went. Janna looks... happy. For a moment, I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel.

“He made it through. Somehow, he made it through the surgery. They’re still marveling at his recovery. I think... I think it was a good thing you came to Germany.”

Although I’m still unsure, the sick feeling that had become a permanent resident in my stomach flutters a little.

“We’re going to lift the medically induced coma tomorrow,” she says. “Once he’s stable, and he’s awake and we can check his brain function, we’re going to start the process of sending him home.”

“Then we should go home, too,” I say to Jay, who looks at me, still pissed. “I would rather be back in Chicago for when he comes back. You’ll transfer him?”

Janna looks a little taken aback. “Gaffney Chicago Medical Center, like you asked, but Dr. Halstead couldn’t take the case.”

“What? Why?” I can’t let anyone else take this. It should be Will.

“Conflict of interest,” she reads. “Dr. Connor Rhodes is taking it over in his place, even though he’s a... cardiothoracic surgeon? Wow. You’ve got friends in high places.”

Connor. Our paths haven’t crossed a lot, other than when I’ve been admitted to the hospital. 

“You really shouldn’t leave just yet,” she suggests. “It would be good for him to see you.”

“Is his commanding officer still here?” I ask.

“Ortiz? Yeah, he’s here—”

I pull Janna into an embrace. “Thank you for everything you did. Thank you for taking care of him. Just... thank you.”

She finally pulls me tight, but I let go too quickly for her to properly hug me. As I’m walking away, I hear her voice: “What did you want with Ortiz?”

I don’t turn around. “Send Ortiz in to talk to him. He’d rather it come from his commanding officer. Don’t... don’t tell him we were here.”

I don’t cry on our way home.


	5. I get hammered, forget that you exist... there’s no way I’m forgetting this

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kate tries to go back to her life, but for Mouse, his life has changed drastically. At the behest of the Halsteads and Dr. Connor Rhodes, Kate finally visits him and faces an emotional surprise.

**March 13, 2018**   
**1557 Hours**   
**Gaffney Chicago Medical Center**

I leave Dr. Charles’s office, and for once, I’m happy to escape. I usually like our talks, to be honest; he’s easy to talk to and doesn’t make it seem like you’re getting therapy. But this time felt like an attack.

He had to understand. He had to—he knew more about the situation than... well, anyone, I think. Shit not even Jay or Will knew. Even so, he made me feel like I should have stayed in Germany. He of all people should get why I couldn't be there.

I breeze by the nurse’s station. They know me by now. Ever since Mouse came in a couple of days ago, they’ve been giving me updates. This time, I see Maggie, the charge nurse from the emergency department, lurking up at this nurse’s station. I grab her attention and she just gives me a smile.

“KC! What’s up? What can I help you with?”

“Just checking on the status of a patient. You think you could…”

She’s already typing on the computer before I finish asking. “Gerwitz, right?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“He’s stable,” she reads off the screen. “He’s up for another surgery soon. End of this week. Do you want to go see him?”

“What’s the surgery for?” I ask, trying to change the subject. She spends longer than she should looking at me, trying to gauge my expression. I don’t like it so I break eye contact, peering down the hallway as I try to plan my escape.

“More reconstruction,” she explains. Not that I really want more details, but it’s good to know his status. Not that I really needed to know. I just...

“It would be good for him to see you,” she says. “You know, a friendly face?”

I step back, shaking my head. “Not today, Maggie. I can’t do it today.” I already start to walk away, but she calls after me.

“You know when visiting hours are."

I weave my way through the hallways so I can sneak out through the emergency department. I'm nearly out before I get stopped.

“KC! KC, hey—”

I hear Connor’s voice. I should turn around. I should talk to him. I have to. God, I hate having a conscience.

“Dr. Rhodes. Hey.”

“How are you doing?” He says, but it’s almost fake cheerful. I don’t like when he does this. Ever since he and Will got on speaking terms, and then became friends, God forbid, he went out of his way to be nice to me. Maybe that’s just how people are sometimes, but I’m too tired anymore to try.

“How are any of us really doing?” I say, then realize the morbidity of my statement. “I’m doing about as well as I could be.”

“That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“About what, exactly?”

He gives me a look. When I don’t respond, he raises his eyebrow at me. “You know.”

“I wish I didn’t.”

I try to start walking away, but he cuts me off. “We need to discuss it.”

“Why?”

“You’re his emergency contact.”

“I never asked to be.”

“But you are, and you should know his status.”

“I just checked in upstairs. I know his status.”

“Why don’t we grab coffee?”

I glare at him for a beat, but he’s intent. I roll my eyes and start walking through the emergency department to head outside to the coffee truck. Connor, in his usual manner, stays stoic and quiet until he gets his coffee. I get tea.

“You not drinkin’ coffee anymore?”

“I’ve tried to cut back,” I say, sipping on my entirely too hot tea but unable to stop, due to my pride. “Coffee makes me jittery. Shaky. Really don’t need that on top of everything else.”

“Seriously, KC. Are you okay?”

I pace a little down the glass of the hospital. I don’t like seeing my reflection, but it’s better than facing Connor’s questions right away.

“I was doing better,” I admit. “I was until about a week ago. Now... I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel.”

“He doesn’t know either, but it would be better to have a familiar face.”

I feel my boots nearly slip against the concrete at the hard stop.

“He’s awake,” Connor says. “Didn’t they tell you? He’s awake, and he’s trying to sort everything out. The last thing he remembers is a firefight in Helmand Province, and now he’s back home in Chicago.”

“This was never really home to him,” I retort. “He’d rather be in desert camo.”

“That’s not an option anymore, and it’s gonna take him a long time to come to terms with that. He needs you, KC. Whether he or you recognize that.”

“He made it very clear to me that he did not need me.”

Connor finally cuts me off, stepping in front of me and forcing me to look at him. His tight jaw makes me wonder if he’s got more to say but is cutting himself off.

So I let loose. “I have come so far since he left. I have worked through a bunch of my shit, and he’s just going to add to it. I don’t... I can’t. I’ve done what I’ve needed to do. I’ve done enough for my conscience to be clear.”

“Do you really want a zero-sum game, or do you want to make a damn difference?” He’s starting to escalate. I swear he does it just to get a rise out of me.

“I’m out of attempts to make a difference! I’ve done enough. I just want to live my life in quiet and—and without stress, and without wanting him to come back, because he never will—”

Connor looks at me like he’s won. “That’s it, isn’t it? You don’t think he’s ever going to be the same again.”

“I never was.”

“But you’re still you. And he’s still him.”

I’ve had enough. "If he wants to talk to me, he knows where to find me." I brush past him, and he throws one last comment over my shoulder:

“He asked about you.”

I stop on the sidewalk, foot in mid-step.

“Two days ago. Wanted to know if you were still in Chicago. I told him you were.”

Not today, KC. Not today. I have to walk away.

* * *

**March 17, 2018**   
**2128 Hours**   
**1111 W 14th Place #122, Little Italy, Chicago**

There’s an incessant pounding on my door until I pause my annual viewing of _Boondock Saints_ and go check who was there.

Whoever is outside has covered up my peephole with their hand. I think about ignoring it for a moment, but I take the chance and open the door with the chain lock still engaged.

Jay looks stoic, but I know he’s drunk enough because his cheeks are red. Will pops his head around the corner, a wide grin on his face.

“No,” I immediately say.

“Yes,” Jay responds, crossing his arms. “Let’s go.”

“I’m in my pajamas. I’m watching my movie. Leave me alone.”

I shut my door against their protests and deadbolt it. I hear their calls for me to come out from the other side. Part of me feels bad. It’s been weeks since we’ve gone out, and it’s our holiday.

“We’ll break in!” I hear Will say. “We can break in, can’t we?”

“You hurt my door, I hurt your face!” I roll my eyes and bite the bullet. By the time I change my clothes, both deadbolts and the standard door lock are open.

“You got a rubber band?” I hear Jay say on the other side.

“Why the hell do you think I carry a rubber band?”

“Give me your shoelace.”

“Use your own shoelace!”

I put on a little bit of makeup, and by the time they fall into my apartment, I’m standing ready.

“That took you way longer than it should have.”

“Don’t have so many locks on your door!” Will stutters.

“You’re both drunk,” I say, chugging my Guinness and setting the bottle on the counter. “I’m going to need to catch up.”

Something tells me I need to do this anyway.

* * *

Of course we end up at Molly’s when I can’t seem to see straight. I wouldn’t call it a pleasant drunk, to be honest, but it was drunkenness all the same.

The place is packed. I hate the fact that there’s a million people here, but we make do and sidle up to the bar. Herrmann says something to me, but I don’t really hear him. I don’t hear much. He just slides me a trio of Guinnesses. I think about just drinking them all for a moment, but Will takes his with a flourish.

“Glad you came out with us!” Will says over the loud music. I think it’s the Dropkick Murphy’s. Might be Flogging Molly. Too drunk to know the difference.

“You broke into my apartment. I didn’t really have a choice.”

“You needed to come out,” he says. “After the last couple weeks...”

“Don’t remind me,” I say. I chug half my beer just to ride the buzz. Jay tilts his head at me and raises an eyebrow. I know what’s coming. My back is to the bar and they’re double teaming me.

“Nope. No, we’re not doing this right now. I’m too drunk for this!” I call out to the rest of the bar.

“We’re havin’ this conversation right now!” Jay exclaims. “You need to go talk to him!”

I start singing along to the song so I can’t hear them. Definitely Flogging Molly.

“What would you want if the roles were reversed?” Jay says, suddenly serious.

I slip up onto one of the bar stools. “If the roles were reversed? If I just up and reenlisted, then went off the reservation for two years, and then came back? You really think the roles could be reversed?”

“Humor me,” Jay says.

“I don’t know,” I admit. “I don’t know what I would want. I waited for almost two years for him to call. To write. If you don’t like my decision, blame him. This was his decision. I’m trying to honor it.”

“What will it hurt, going to see him?” Will tries.

“Me. It’ll hurt me. You both know how I feel—how I felt about him. I don’t know if I can do this again.”

They both look at each other, so I finish off my beer.

“We’re not asking you to get back with him,” Jay says. “He just... he wants to see you.”

“You talked to him?!”

“I did. Listen—just... just go see him, okay?"

"Take twenty minutes and go see him. It could make a difference,” Will says. “Really. It’s been proven in medical journals—”

“Will you both get off my ass if I do?”

“Yes!” They say in unison.

“Fine. Fine, I’ll go. If it goes to Hell, I blame you both.”

* * *

**March 20, 2018**   
**0935 Hours**   
**Gaffney Chicago Medical Center**

I can't go past the doors to the long-term care wing. I can’t seem to force myself through the doors. Jay and Will are right. I need to try. I need to try, because there’s no good reason for me to alienate him. Except for every time I thought about him and he wasn’t there.

He was supposed to be there.

I shut my eyes tight. They were right. If I went off to war, I would want to see him again. I’m pushing through the doors of the wing before I can stop myself. The nurse who usually stops me to check in gives me a smile.

“Can I...?”

“Yes, you can. He was awake on last rounds.”

I feel the panic attack rising in my chest, but I push it down. Everything feels forced, but I know it’s better this way.

I see his door. I see his name under the number. God, I hate this. I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t even think he would want to see me. I just—

I knock on the door frame. I can’t even second guess myself. I’m doing it and I can’t stop.

“C’mon, Dr. Rhodes," he says, airy like he still had some trouble catching his breath. "We both know you and the nurses are the only ones visiting me, so we’re kinda past knocking, don’t you think?”

I step inside the door, leaning against the wood. His hair is longer again. He’s gotten scruffy again, like he used to be, before we met... He’s so thin. God. This isn’t how... this isn’t how I knew him. This isn’t who he is. He’s better than this. He just looks... exhausted. More than I ever saw from him, like it runs deeper than just physicality. Even his zip up sweatshirt looked bigger than normal around him, like he couldn’t keep warm anymore. Thankfully, someone had found him a laptop. I wouldn’t be surprised if he had hacked the security system on a whim.

I have to clear my throat before I speak, or my voice will crack.

“Hey. Hey, Mouse.”

He looks up immediately, his eyes wide. He opens his mouth to say something, then shuts it, instead, opting to give me a slight smirk. I don’t even think it’s voluntary. It just happens.

“Can I come in?”

“Oh, uh. Yeah, yeah. Come in,” he mutters almost to himself. He shuts his computer while I pull a chair closer to his hospital bed. I don’t put my bag down. I’m not even sure what to do. I can’t look at him in the face. Not when he looks the way he does.

“So, how... how are you doing?” He asks.

I look anywhere but at him. “Oh. I’m still teaching,” I explain. I already told him this, but he has no way of knowing. “I started going back to church sometimes. I joined a hockey team.”

He chuckles. It’s not like the way he used to. It's like he was watching YouTube videos on how to have a normal conversation. “I asked how you were doing, not what you were doing.”

“How? How I’m doing?” I ask dumbly. “I’m... I’m not sure I can easily answer that question.”

“Yeah, me neither,” he says under his breath. “Looks like I’m back in Chicago permanently. Not like I had a choice."

“Oh?”

“Yeah, not that I had much say in it. Don't really have anywhere else to go.”

“I’m glad you’re back,” I say. As soon as it comes out of my mouth, I feel the redness in my cheeks. I shouldn’t have come here. I’m just going to say something way too stupid and regret it. "Not... not too fond of the circumstances, but..." I can't help but drift.

He doesn't seem to know how to continue the conversation, and I don't either. Instead, he opens his mouth a couple times and shuts it without answering. Eventually, though, he speaks.

“I didn’t think you would...” He trails off.

“Didn’t think I would what?” I ask, but he just licks his lips and shakes his head.

“How did you know? How did you find out?”

“Find out? About... about you?”

“No, about the Goddamn pope, of course about me.”

I hadn’t prepared anything. I don’t know what kind of story to tell, so I go with the easiest one I can come up with: “Dr. Rhodes told me. I... I’ve been going to therapy with Dr. Charles, and I ran into him.”

He stares at the thin blankets around his legs, and he doesn’t seem to like that answer.

“You’re my emergency contact. They should have called you.”

I try to backpedal, but it’s no use. “They did. I mean—”

“How long have you actually known?”

I deflate. “Since the day you got to Germany.”

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised,” He sighs, crossing his arms tight across his chest and leaning back against the hospital bed. He looks tired. “I left you. I disappeared. This is what I deserve, really.”

“I don’t like this fatalistic approach.”

“What other approach am I gonna take?” He asks. “Most of my unit is dead. I’m useless now. What's the point?”

Before I realize I’m doing it, I turn his face to force him to look at me. “You are the opposite of useless. You’ve always had a place here, whether you care to acknowledge that or not. I tried to tell you that you didn’t have to go. That was a decision you made. It was a decision you made without the recognition of my feelings, or—or Jay’s feelings, and you just left. Sure, you did some shitty things, but you are not useless. I’ve always needed you.”

His furrowed brow softens, like he's making a realization. I quickly move my hand and swiftly try to change the subject. “I brought you some stuff, if that’s okay.” I start to unload my bag— “I know how shitty these hospital blankets are, so I brought you a better one.”

He grasps the edge of the quilt. “Didn’t you get this at that handmade marketplace...?”

“Yeah, in Wicker Park. You made me drink that awful hippie smoothie.”

“Admittedly, I agree. It was gross as hell.”

I chuckle and reach back into my bag. “I figured you didn’t have a decent phone charger, because you never do, so I am giving this back to you, since it was yours in the first place. Want me to plug it in?”

He just nods. I just keep unloading my bag because now I’m on a roll and I don’t want to stop.

“I wasn’t sure if you had access to a computer, so I’m glad you do, but here’s the account information for my Netflix, Hulu, Amazon Prime, and Spotify. You can get any sport you want now."

"I don't... I don't really watch anymore."

"Well, now you can."

I put the sheet on his little desk, and pull out the last item in my bag.

“You have to promise me you won’t eat them all at once, or Connor will kill me,” I say, presenting him with the large white bakery bag. He looks inside, eyes wide.

“You went all the way to Ukrainian Village for donuts?”

“There’s some cookies in the bottom, too,” I say. He just clutches onto the edge of the quilt.

“You didn’t... you shouldn’t... you didn’t have to do this,” he finally gets out.

“Yeah, I did,” I say. I mean it, I realize. “You didn’t deserve this. I need you to understand that.”

I see the tears welling in his blue eyes. He just stares at me for a moment. I can’t even speak. I truly can’t speak when he pulls me to his lips, for just a moment longer than he should, before I break the kiss. His hand is still under my hair, his fingers against the skin of my neck. I feel the IV cord brushing against my shoulder. It causes me to shiver.

"Not today," he murmurs to himself. "Not today."

“I... I need to get back to campus,” I say, closing my eyes tightly so I don’t have to see him. If I look at him now, I’m afraid I’ll make another mistake. I can't ask him what he means. It'll only make things worse.

It’s too late. I take the breath’s length between us and kiss him again. I hate myself for it, even when I break away.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay,” he says, clearing his throat and moving his hand away from me. “It was nice to see you.”

I’m out of the door before I can give myself a chance to respond.


	6. And fully clothed, I float away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kate tries desperately to move on, but her morality can't let her. Between her priest and the Halsteads, she seeks Mouse out once more, but she's starting to learn there's more to his trauma than she realizes.

**March 28, 2018**   
**1503 Hours**   
**Saint Gabriel Church, Canaryville, Chicago**

I wander inside the church in the middle of the afternoon. I know Sunday is Easter, and I'm going to be at a mass then, but something made me want to come in today. I needed desperately to come in today.

First things first: I head for the side altar that houses the candles. There's a few lit already, but I put a dollar in the offering box and light one. I don't know what I want to pray for. I just want him to get better. I need him to get better.

I hadn’t visited him since last week happened. I don’t know how I would even consider how to address it. I don’t even know if I want to address it. Chock it up to emotions running too high and try to brush it under the rug.

I slip into one of the pews in the back. I usually sit in the back anyways—a product of my need to always see an exit—but Father Mullen never seems to mind. He knows enough of what I've done and what I need from this place and asking questions has never been one of them. He knows if I need him, I'll come ask for him.

That's why he slips by me, giving me a slight head nod as I grasp my rosary. He's about out of earshot when I call for him.

"Father?"

He immediately changes his trajectory and closes the distance between us. He's gotten older, sure, but he's been here since I was a kid. Since Will and Jay and I were kids.

"What can I do for you, Kaitlyn?"

I look up to the altar, and the Celtic cross painted on the ceiling.

"A friend of mine was wounded in action," I say, keeping my voice low but still somehow listening to it bounce off the walls. "He's... he's not doing too well, emotionally, physically. I just... I could use a little extra help.”

“You, or him?” He asks quietly.

“Both,” I whisper.

He nods once. He knows that's all the detail he's going to get out of me. "Absolutely."

"Thank you, Father."

He leaves me alone to start my rosary prayer.

* * *

**April 9, 2018**   
**1521 Hours**   
**Gaffney Chicago Medical Center**

I haven’t slept in days. I wish it didn’t bother me like it does. I do my damnedest to get away from him. I can’t do this. I’m overwhelmed, I need to grade papers, I’m... I’m just done.

I wouldn’t even know where to start. I don’t know where he’s staying, or—or what his schedule is. I don’t know what he’s doing. I don’t know anything. I feel like I don’t even know him anymore. I feel like I don’t know myself anymore, but that’s beside the point.

There’s half of me that wants to run, to scream, to completely ignore him and tear him from who I am, but that’s the problem—he's become part of who I am. Not just romantically, I remind myself. I wouldn’t be where I am today without him. He helped me heal, not once but twice; he helped me relearn to be a civilian. He helped me relearn how to live.

I just can’t help but feeling like I owe him for that.

At the same time, though, I don’t deserve what he’s given me. We needed to be beside each other, in the good and the bad. As of late, it’s been just the bad.

But right now, I need to find my way out of this Goddamn hospital.

I can hear Connor’s voice, so I instinctively go towards it, trying to fend off the anxiety attack waiting to happen. But I see him, about fifteen feet down the hall, talking to someone else.

My heart falls. It feels like it’s jumped down the elevator shaft. I had no idea, I realize. I had no suspicion, or understanding, of how bad it could have been. I just want to cry.

Connor talks to Mouse, using low voices. Either that, or I can’t hear it. I can only hear my heart beating in my ears.

He just... he looks so small in that chair. He’s half of who he was before. I don’t know if there was any part of him from before left anymore. He looks so tired. He just pulls on his beanie like he wanted to disappear into it.

God, I should have known. I should have known—it was bad enough, of course this had to get worse. I had to consider the frag wounds would cause this kind of damage. Is it permanent? Is this who he is now?

I can’t cry. I can’t cry, because he’s going to see me, and if I cry, I’m going to have a complete breakdown. I can’t do that. I don’t have the time or energy to do that.

In the span of time I’ve spent frozen, though, Connor has seen me. He’s stopped talking. He nods at me.

I want to step back, take another route, but I’m locked in. I’m locked in, because I glance down.

I can’t. Not after what happened in the ICU. I guess I didn’t realize he had been discharged yet, but I need to figure out what I’m going to do soon, as Connor finishes his conversation with him and makes his way towards me.

“For the love of God, talk to the man, or I will take you out myself.”

“I would like to see you try,” I whisper.

“Use your damn words, Cavanagh.”

“I’ll use my fists on your face. You can’t force this.”

“Just did.”

I stand in the hallway, unable to turn around and escape for fear of ruining anything we could have had, unable to step forward for fear of, well, everything.

I don’t move. I can’t move.

Mouse closes the distance between us, rolling the wheels of his own wheelchair. But he clears his throat, pulls off his beanie, ruffles his hair. “Uh, hey. Hey, KC.” He closes the distance between us, and I fall into step beside him. It looks like we’re both headed for the elevators. It hurts. It’s even worse when the door snaps shut.

“You got discharged,” I say dumbly. “I didn’t know.”

“I just got out yesterday, whatever good it’ll do.” I don’t know what to do. Should I follow? Should I keep talking to him? This elevator is taking way too long.

The elevator doors open, leaving us off at the emergency department level. I see Will, and his eyes grow wide as he realizes. I silently plead for him to come rescue me, but he doesn’t get my message.

I bite back my lip, trying to ignore the voice in the back of my head, but it won’t stop screaming. We walk in silence, through the waiting room and out the glass doors.

“If you’re gonna say something, say it,” he finally breaks the silence. The sharpness of his tone surprises me. There are parts of him that aren’t there anymore, and they’ve been replaced with pieces I don’t like.

“What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know, you wish I had died over there, or—or you wish I never came back, or whatever you’ve been thinking about for the last year and a half, because I know what I’ve been thinking about.”

“Jesus Christ, Mouse, you really think I’m that horrible of a person?”

“Not you,” he says. “Me. Look at me. I don’t even think I’m a person anymore.”

“Dr. Rhodes... what does he say?” I clear my throat, trying to push away the threat of tears.

“With physical therapy, I should be able to walk again,” he says. He... he mocks. He can’t make eye contact with me. “That’s if I even want to waste the time and money for therapy.”

“Wait, what?” I stutter. “Are you... what are you even... Mouse, I don’t even know why we’re having this conversation. Listen. I just... I don’t know what to say to you right now and you have to give me that.”

“What do you mean?” He doesn’t even look like he cares. He’s asking that question because he has to, not that he wants to. I take it anyway, and I feel like I might float away.

“What happened last time we saw each other. What happened when you and I...” I just end up groaning. I don’t know what else to do but tell him. “I feel like there are two parts of me at war right now, and I don’t know which part of me is going to win out. There’s the part of me that wants desperately to walk away, to close this chapter on my life with you, and the other half just... I wish I could help you, okay? I want to help you. But I don’t know if I’m ready to do that right now.”

“Well, I wish I could help you make that decision,” he says, grumbling. “I’ve made mine.”

“Jesus Christ, Mouse. Can you just... I just...”

“Let me have it,” he shrugs. “I know you have a lot to say, just say it.”

“I’m saying it. I’m saying it, and I...” my voice cracks and finally I let the tears fall. “You left. You left without even talking to me about it. You had made that decision before I could even... even tell you it was a bad one. But you did it without thinking about my feelings. You did it without even talking to me about our future or, or what was really bothering you, you just did it. I never wanted you to go. I never wanted you to think you had to go back to that life. But you did. And this is the price we have to pay.”

“You don’t have to pay a price!” He cries. “I gave you an out! I gave you every out you could possibly need, but you can’t seem to figure that out!”

I take a breath. He’s seething, I’m crying, people are looking. But fine. Fine, if this is what he wants. If he thinks I need to take the out. I should have taken the out a long time ago, it seems.

“Fine. Fine, I’ll take the out. But did you ever think for one second I didn’t want to leave you?”

And at that, I leave him.

* * *

**April 28, 2018**   
**2056 Hours**   
**Molly's Pub, Chicago**

I thought it was weird when Will texted me asking me to go to Molly’s with him. Usually it’s all three of us, at least, but this is different. He seemed nervous, so it made me nervous.

We get a table in the back corner. He’s quiet and silent until we get our drinks.

I just manage to stare at the bar stools near the end of the bar. I haven’t seen Mouse in weeks. I haven’t talked to him at all, and I don’t even know how I would even get a hold of him—

“So, I did invite you here for a reason. I have... I’ve got a few questions for you.”

I just drink half my beer and he raises an eyebrow at me. “Alright, I’m ready.”

He sighs heavily. “I don’t know if I should be worried or impressed.”

“Hit me, Ginger.”

“Okay, okay. Okay.”

“Three okays? Must not be okay. At all. What’s on your mind?”

“I have something to show you,” he says, looking around the rest of the bar. When he deems it appropriate, he pulls a small red box out of his pocket.

“And to think, I didn’t get you anything,” I mutter. He slides it across the table at me and I open it. Inside, there’s an engagement ring. I look it over. I have flashbacks to when we were younger. “Wait, Mom’s ring?”

He chuckles. “You remember it?”

“Of course I do,” I whisper, almost touching it. It's a reverent object now. I can almost hear Bridget's laugh, then yelling at us for tracking dirt into her kitchen. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get back. I was still in Afghanistan.”

“So was Jay,” Will says, drinking his own beer.

“Oh my God,” I say in realization. “You’re gonna propose to Natalie.”

He starts beaming. “Who the hell did you think I was proposing to?”

“I’m sorry, I’m just... I’m off. I’m off my game,” I murmur, snapping the box shut and slipping it back to him. “Alright, what do you need me to do?”

“What? I don’t... I have questions,” he finally explains. ”What should I do? How should I do it?”

“Don’t go big,” I immediately say. “Natalie... she’s not a big proposal kind of person, from what I understand. I don’t know her extremely well, but she’s chill. She’s gonna want something that’s just you.”

“I’m thinking dinner at home, champagne, a view of the city... just her and I.”

“Why didn’t you just go with that?!”

“I wasn’t sure!” He says, exasperated.

“You know her better than I ever will,” I say. “Go with your gut, Ginge. It’s usually pretty right.”

“I’m sensing a ‘but’.”

“You know you’re a butt.”

“We’re adults, you know that, right?” He chuckles.

“Mostly,” I say. “Hey, man. I’m proud of you. She’s one of the good ones. She deserves you and you deserve her.”

For the first time in a while, I get a genuine smile out of Will. It actually makes me want to smile. “Thank you. Seriously. I needed to hear that.”

I chuckle in disbelief. “What? You needing some sort of validation? Never!”

“Oh, stop it. You know, there’s been times you’ve been there for me when Jay wasn’t.”

“Don’t start this,” I say. I finish my beer off in anxiety.

“No, you gotta let me say it.”

“Ugh, fine, then say it.”

“Jay and I, we’re always going to be there for you. You know that. I just want to make sure you remember it.”

“I know, Will—”

“Really. You’re not just a friend, Kate. You’re my sister.”

I stop for a moment. He’s got his serious face on. I don’t know how to take it. The sincerity is enough to make me want to break, so I pull on the façade I’m used to.

“Hey, bro, you wanna get shit-tanked like we used to?”

“I don’t work tomorrow, and neither do you.”

I flag Stella down for more drinks. I’m going to need them.

* * *

**May 3, 2018**   
**1141 Hours**   
**University of Illinois – Chicago Campus**

I hate exams. I hate finals like I was still in college. There’s not much I can do while I proctor this final, because I can’t focus.

It’s been a month since I’ve heard from Mouse. I can’t begin to fathom what’s going on, nor can I really even consider contacting him. I’m suddenly very, very scared.

I check my phone and the open text conversation.

Jay: _You hear from Mouse?_

Me: _Not since we had it out in front of Gaffney last month_

Jay: _You know how to get a hold of him?_

Me: _You’re the cop. I have his old number, but it’s been disconnected. Can you track him or something?_

Jay: _I can try, but I’m deep in a case right now. Actually, I need to talk to you about it. _

Me: _Dude. Please. I'm worried._

Jay: _I’ll start searching now. Still need to talk._

I put down my phone, but it’s to no avail. I’m too free to sit in my thoughts, and the one thing I keep landing on is finding Mouse.

I yawn. The kids only have a few minutes left to finish their written exams. I have two left, frantically writing. They should know by now I don’t grade that harshly. They need to learn some chill.

I should have done better. I should have done better to find him, to get a hold of him, but something tells me he doesn’t want to be found. I don’t know what scares me more, not knowing where he is or knowing he’s in a fragile state.

Some of the things he was saying to me didn’t make sense. I don’t know what his mindset is anymore. I don’t know if he is who I thought he was. But I should know better: we all change. We all change, and I don’t know if it’s always for the better.

This one could have broken him all together.

The clock shifts to noon and they both regretfully turn their Blue Books in. I mark the tops. They did their best, and they should be considered for more points. At least I’m a benevolent professor.

I gather up everything and head to my office before getting the few things I needed before heading out for the day.

"How's your friend?"

I jump at the sound of Dr. Washburne's voice. In another life, he would have been cute, as he checks his pocket watch and tucks it back into his vest. But he's not my type, and he should know that by now.

"Oh. He's back in Chicago," I say. "He... he's doing better. He's got a long road ahead, but I think... he's going to be okay," I say, more confident than I really felt.

"Good," Washburne murmurs, although I don't quite believe him, either. "Good, I'm glad. Is there..." he follows after me, down the hallway, and I'm not prepared for it. "Do you need anything else from me? Is there anything I can do?"

"You've done more than enough, Dr. Washburne," I say, shooting him the best smile I could muster before I left the building. I don't want to give him more hope than he needs, but he has been a loyal colleague. Plus, he has to know I'm still gun shy. I'm not ready to make friends with another professor. People talked enough when Jeffrey Hansen left. I guess everyone I touch seems to disintegrate. 

I start out of campus. Granted, it was barely past noon, but I had some other things to do before hockey practice tonight.

I head down Taylor, wishing I had ridden my bike today, but it’s okay. I just need to run a few errands before—

I can't even... I can’t even run errands in peace.

He’s still in his wheelchair. I don’t know what he’s doing on campus, other than looking for me. I don’t think there’s another option.

“God, dammit, KC,” I mutter. I don’t have a choice. He’s here, and my curiosity is too strong. “Hey—hey, Mouse!”

It takes him a moment to even turn to look at me. I don’t know what world he’s living in, but it seems to wake him up.

“Kate,” he says, but he’s hoarse. “What... what are you doing here? What the hell happened to you?"

“It’s campus, I kind of work here," I say, "And this old thing?" I gesture to the bruise around my eye and limp I was nursing. "I had a hockey game. My knee acts up sometimes."

“Right. Right, sorry. I just... I didn’t realize you were around today.”

He seems agitated. Maybe he wasn’t looking for me, but this is what he’s got. He can’t look me in the eye, he can’t seem to focus. He’s gotten even more scruffy. I hate myself for the words that come out of my mouth.

“What... what are you doing right now?” I ask.

“I don’t do much of anything anymore,” he mutters.

“Do you want to grab lunch or something?”

The harsh, tired look on his face fades a little and gives way to a fraction of the person I knew before. I loved before.

“If you have time,” he says, shrugging. “I mean, I know you’re busy, I just... yeah, sure. I just... no, you’re right. I’m good with that.”

“Hawkeye’s is a block away, you wanna try that?”

God, I cannot seem to stop my stupid mouth. Hawkeye’s. Our first date. But it’s the closest place I know we both like, and I hate myself for even thinking of it. It must have been subconscious.

The short journey is wrapped in silence, until we find ourselves a table. I move one of the chairs away so he can sit, and he just thanks me quietly. By the time we’ve ordered, I’m nearly jumping out of my skin.

“I haven’t heard from you.”

“I didn’t think you wanted to.” I look over him before I respond. He looks so tired. I don’t know what to do to help him besides talking to him. I have nothing else. I don’t know what he needs unless he talks to me.

“How are you?” I ask. He takes a long while to respond. Instead, he looks me over: me, I’ve barely changed. His eyes stop on my necklace: the Celtic warrior cross. The one he got me for my birthday. The one he left on the nightstand of my apartment and I found days after we said our goodbyes. I had replaced my dog tags with it.

“You’re, uh. You’re wearing the necklace I got you.”

I touch the silver. He’s evading my questions, but if he’s going to at least talk, I’ll take it.

“You like it?” He asks.

“I do. I very much like it.”

“I thought you would. You’re not much on jewelry, I know, but I thought... you were always used to something there... I thought you might...”

“I do,” I say, getting him out of his feedback loop before we loop back to silence. “You scared the shit out of me.”

He chuckles, just once, and runs a hand through his hair. “Which time?”

“When I heard what happened, I... you... it terrified me.”

He just shrugs. “It’s par for the course by now. Or it was.”

“I don’t know how you can be so flippant.”

“It’s what I was born to do. I was a soldier. I was a damn good one. And now I’m not. Simple as that.” He stares down at the table, playing with whatever he could get his hands on: the napkin holder, the salt shaker, the sugar packets.

“There’s more to you than that.”

“Not anymore, Kate. Not anymore.” He just shrugs, defeated.

I'm seething. “Dammit, Mouse. You... you just don’t fucking get it, do you? I never wanted you to go for a reason. You helped me get through my shit. You helped me get through my shit twice. You pulled me out of a burning building as I nearly died,” I articulate. “You were by my side that entire time. And outside of just us, you... you’re the most technologically advanced person I know. I can barely set up a television, but you’ve hacked a Department of Defense satellite.”

“Allegedly.” He says it out of the side of his mouth, and the old Mouse was there for a fraction of a second, just before the smirk fades.

“Okay, allegedly, fine, but seriously. You’re patient and funny and smart and caring and so much more than just someone who points and shoots a gun and takes some bullets. I want that person back. And I know you don’t think he’s in there, but I know he is. Whether you like it or not. Now I need you to figure your shit out and tell me what you need. This is ridiculous, Mouse. This is ridiculous, and you know it.”

He seems like he's had a little too much time to think about it, because he's quick on the uptake. “Maybe I'm not ready. Maybe I’m not ready to figure my shit out. Maybe I need to... maybe I need to float for a while. I just need to float.”

“Don’t float for too long, okay?”

I see the slightest hint of a smile, but it disappears as quickly as it comes.

“Not today,” I hear him murmur once more to himself.


	7. Oh, you're so holy, and I'll never be good enough. Don't care if I'm lonely, 'cause it feels like home.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tragedy strikes District 21, and Kate shares her greatest fear—that Mouse would have been next. But as they try to rebuild again, she starts to realize that Mouse doesn't want to rebuild.

**May 12, 2018**   
**1321 Hours**   
**St. Paul’s Catholic Church**

I never thought I would be putting on my uniform for this funeral. If I were being honest, I thought it would be for Mouse. I thought we would be putting his coffin into the ground, but nothing could have prepped me for this.

The ceremony itself was simple. Al wouldn’t have wanted it over the top. He was never one to say more than he needed to. And I think that’s what got him murdered.

Voight didn’t even come to the funeral. I know it had to be his fault, somehow. He and Al… they always had a relationship I could never come to understand.

I never would now, I realize.

If it weren’t for Al, I would have never stayed in Chicago. I would have never gotten the job and stuck around, or even been able to get my own apartment. I would have never done a lot of things.

I try not to make the mental list.

I wander away, letting the rest of the intelligence division have their time alone with him. They’ve suffered enough. I can’t imagine how they’re feeling right now. All I can know for sure is how I feel right now.

The last time I saw him was when I went to Germany. We didn’t speak to each other, he just gave me a hug and I kissed him on the cheek… I let the tears fall, because it’s not going to do me any good to stop it. Besides, it’s safe here. I don’t see anyone, and no one can see me.

“You thought I would be next, didn’t you?”

I turn around. I don’t know how he got there, but somehow, Mouse made it to the funeral. I never even saw him; he must have been shrouded in the cloud of police and funeral attendees and I was so deep in my own thoughts I never thought to look.

“There’s no cause for that kind of thinking.”

“You’re in your uniform,” he mentions. He’s not. He barely looks presentable, but that’s beside the point. He’s so ragged, I want to put aside everything for a second to help. I don’t even know where he’s staying, or what he’s doing. I don’t know if I want to.

“For Al,” I say. “He deserves the recognition.”

“I’m just sayin’, I’m sure you thought mine was next. That’s saying you would have even gone.”

I wipe the tears, and I know it’s just going to get worse if I don’t stop him now.

“Listen. I do not need your bullshit right now. I don’t, okay? Now either go pay your respects to our friend or tell me something good. I don’t want this. You were doing so well the last time I saw you.”

He scoffs. “Me? Doing well? You really think that… I was doing well?”

I’m done. I start walking down the paved road of the cemetery, trying to get away from him, but I hear him follow me.

“I was on campus to score!”

I stop. I shouldn’t, because he’s very nearly running into me when I turn around and force him to clarify with just my scowl.

“The last time I saw you. I had a contact there. I was… I was going to score.”

“Why?”

“Why? Why what? You know why!” He snaps. “You know why. Both you and Jay, you both… you warned me, and I didn’t listen, are you happy?”

“Did you go back?” I say, my voice frighteningly level.

“What?” He asks, taken aback. “Go back?”

“After we talked. Did you go back and try to score whatever it was you tried to score?”

“No,” he says, almost in realization. “No, I didn’t, but that’s beside the point—”

“Why did you feel the need to tell me just now?” I accuse.

“Why did I have to tell you? What the hell are you doing, trying to—to give me therapy or some shit? I came here for two reasons, and one was to say goodbye to Al—”

“And the other?”

“Would you fucking let me finish?!” He cries. I see the intelligence division turn towards his yell, and a few of them perk up. I think they just realized what was happening.

“If you’re gonna treat me like this, I’m not going to stick around.”

“Let me finish. I wanted to talk to you.”

“You talked to me,” I say. “Mission fucking accomplished. Welcome home. Goodbye.”

“Home?” He says under his breath. “This place isn’t home anymore. We can’t—I can’t go back to the way it was before. Nothing works right anymore. You know that. What’s the damn point?”

I whirl on him once more. “You’re safe. You’re healthy. You’re… you’re here. You’re alive, Mouse, and I think you’re the last one to figure that out!”

“Most of my team died out there! We weren’t done, Kate! We weren’t done!”

“You did what you had to do!”

“I wasn’t done!” He cries once more. “What gives me the right to come back? What gives me the right to survive? They had families and kids and people to come back to. I have nothing.”

“We had something,” I whisper. “That’s what you forget. That’s what you left behind. We had something.”

I walk away. This time he doesn’t follow.

* * *

**May 17, 2018**   
**1312 Hours**   
**Gaffney Chicago Medical Center**

“You’ve sat here, silent, for twelve minutes now,” Dr. Charles gently accuses. “The longer you sit there, the worse you’re gonna feel.”

“I’m doing my best to try to think through my shit, okay?”

“Talking through your shit is exponentially better.”

“I saw Mouse last week.”

“How did that go?”

“Shitty, Dr. Charles. Damn shitty.”

“Okay, I wouldn’t necessarily use the term ‘shitty’ when discussing situations in therapy, but I’m gonna give it a shot. Why was it shitty?”

“We had a conversation that I swear you and I had once,” I explain, not looking at him. The floor is much more interesting. “But he just… exploded. He went off the rails. He had no idea how to rectify it in his mind and I don’t know what else to say to him. I don’t know if anything I do will get through his head.”

“Do you know why he’s not coming for physical therapy?” He asks.

“No. Not an official answer, to say the least. I just think he’s given up, and that’s what scares me the most.”

“Given up? He doesn’t want to live anymore?”

“I don’t know about that,” I backpedal. “I just… he’s not making any attempt to get better. He’s not make any attempt to fix his old relationships, like Jay.”

“Like you.”

“I think we’re a lost cause.”

“Why?”

“Because he wants nothing to do with me.”

“Why?”

“I really don’t know. He just up and left, and now that he’s back, I don’t think he was ever really ready to process those emotions. I think he left thinking he wouldn’t ever come back. I wish I could answer this question for you, but I can’t. Dr. Charles, what do I do?”

“What do you want to do?”

I stare at him dumbly, moving my mouth but unable to answer straight away. “I want to help him,” I finally admit. “I want to help him, but I don’t think he wants the help.”

“If you were in his place, what would you do?”

“I wouldn’t have left in the first place,” I scoff.

“That’s not the question.”

“If I had left? If I just decided to re-enlist, no discussion, and then pushed everyone away? I…” I drift off. I know what I have to say, I know what I have to do, but saying it out loud only made it concrete. “I have to keep pushing him. I have to find him. But I still can’t get past the way he treated me.”

“Here’s my advice for you,” Dr. Charles says, leaning forward. “Don’t consider what you think he deserves. Consider what you would want from him if you were in his place. This is the time he needs someone like you the most. And remember what you two went through, especially together. You know more than anyone what he’s going through. And although he may not acknowledge it right now, he knows he needs you, too. And it's not going go through his head until he's in a better mental state.”

I’m left barely nodding on his couch. “Thanks, Dr. Charles. I owe you.”

As I slip out of the door, I hear his voice: “No, you don’t.”

I’m calling Jay before I’m even down to the emergency department. It takes him a while to pick up, but he does.

“What’s up?”

“Did you say you had Mouse’s number?”

“Yeah, I’ve got his new one. Why?”

“I want you to track it. Find out where he’s at. Can you get a few frequented locations or something?”

“I can’t do it right now, but I’ll get on it. I promise.”

* * *

**May 18, 2018**   
**1032 Hours**   
**Saint Gabriel Church, Canaryville, Chicago**

I sit in my pew, not really doing much of anything except staring at the Celtic cross on the ceiling. The curls of gold just look like the small pendant around my neck.

I've talked to Jay, and Will, and Dr. Charles. I just need the last of my advice givers to sign off on my regrettable plan.

"Kaitlyn."

I glance up to Father Mullen, and I slide over in my pew. He takes my cue and sits down next to me.

"Is there any news about your friend?" He asks quietly.

"It's just getting worse. I don't know what to do. Could I get your advice?” I ask, tracing the lines on the cross with my eyes like I did when I was a kid.

“Of course. What good would I be if I couldn’t give it?”

I chuckle. “Well, I just don’t know what to do.”

“About your ‘friend’?” He says. I can hear the quotes around the word.

“He wasn’t just my friend,” I admit. “I loved him. I might…” I drift off. I don’t even want to admit that in a house of God. If it was a lie, I would feel wrong, and if it were a truth, I would hate myself for it. “I can’t see him like this, but he destroyed me, Father. He completely destroyed me when he left. So I don’t know what to do.”

“You know what to do,” Father Mullen corrects. “You just don’t want to have to do it.”

“I’m afraid of how he’s going to react.”

“Now that is not under your control.”

“I know, I know. I’m just terrified one little thing is going to send him over the edge, so I’m afraid to even try.”

“Proverbs 3:27,” he says.

I rack my brain. "I'm sorry, Father, you know I failed your pop quizzes."

"You're not in class anymore," he says, standing up. “Withhold not good from them to whom it is due, when it is in the power of your hand to do it.”

"Translation?"

"I know it will be hard, but you have to do it. He needs your help, Kaitlyn."

That's the last bit of help I need. I hate the idea, but I stand up and start for the door.

"Hey, Father? Can you say another prayer for me?"

"I always do, Kaitlyn."

* * *

**May 18, 2018**  
1502 Hours  
Fuller Park, Chicago

"Are you sure his phone is here?"

Jay is exasperated, and I know he can't help it. I'm being exasperating. "Yes. Yes, his number is there. Can you wait for me to get there? Please? For the love of God—"

"I'm fine. It looks kind of like a shit hole, but I'm fine."

"I'm not worried about you, I'm worried about everyone else—"

"I'm knocking on the door, bye."

I avoid the broken looking doorbell and just knock on the door firmly. He can't escape from me; I know he's here right now. At least, his phone is.

A large guy with sleeves of tattoos answers the door. I straighten and see the content of the artwork: most of it is Marines related.

"I'm hoping to talk to Gerwitz," I say. He gives me the once over, until I realize I'm standing in parade rest. He notices, and his grumpy face softens just barely.

"1st Battalion, 7th Marines. First Team." he says.

I match his cadence. "1st Squadron, 75th Cavalry, U.S. Army. Widowmakers."

He harrumphs, like I’ve passed his test. "What do you want with Gerwitz?"

"Just wanna talk to him," I say. "I know he's here."

From behind Goliath here, I see the hint of a person in a wheelchair. "Mitchell, it's fine."

He steps away from the door, and Mouse appears. I take a step down off the porch so he has enough room to come out.

"What?"

"I just wanna talk."

"Okay, what?"

"Can you give me a little more respect, or-or at least some acknowledgement that I came here seeking peace?"

He crosses his arms over his chest and I know I'm going to walk away from this angry. "Where's Jay? Is he lurking somewhere? I know you tracked my phone."

"What... what are you doing here?" I ask, ignoring his question. "What is this place?"

"It doesn't matter," he grumbles. "I'm not going to be here long. Tell me what you want."

"You do not have to treat me like this. I... I haven't heard from you. I got worried. I'm scared, okay? I'm... I'm terrified."

"Of what?" He asks. It comes out sharp, but I think he scares himself and his expression backpedals for him. I let this one slide.

"You're... you're back, and I don't think you're really back. Are you... have you checked in with Dr. Rhodes lately? Or Dr. Charles? Have you started rehab? Have you..."

"I already told you, there's no point," he says, shaking his head. "I've got feeling, sure, but I'm so weak from the surgeries..."

"They can fix that, Mouse. But it's on you. You've got to get better, okay?"

"Why?"

"What do you mean, why? You can get back to your life! You can... you can start over, rebuild..."

"Rebuild with what?" He scoffs. "I'm starting from the bottom. I'm starting from below the bottom. When I came back the first time, at least I could walk!" He ends up yelling at me. I nearly fall down another step, putting more distance between us.

"Then let me help you!" I cry. "Let me... let me do whatever you need me to do. Just please... try."

"I don't want your help! I don't want you or Jay's help, I don't want it!" He yells. "I don't know why you think I want you around. I don't. Not anymore. This is off your shoulders now, Kate. Go tell your therapist or—or your priest I don't want your help and I don't need your help. I'm turning you down. I don't need to you save me. I don't want you to save me. I told you before, I gave you an out. I don't know why you keep coming around. I don't want you here. I don't—I don't need you. I don't need you. Just go."

This was a bad idea. I knew it from the start, and I leave the shabby porch in Fuller Park with tears streaming down my face.


	8. I have a long list of tepid disappointments; it doesn’t mention you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a Halstead intervention, Kate decides to track Mouse down. And when she and Jay do, and find him in Lower Lower Wacker, Kate makes a final decision.

**May 20, 2018**   
**1738 Hours**   
**1111 W 14th Place #122, Little Italy, Chicago**

There’s not much I can do anymore. School is over, so I have the rest of the summer to plan out my syllabi and assignments for next fall, but I’m nowhere near in the state of mind to work on that.

I don’t even think I have a state of mind.

After the bullshit that Mouse gave me the last time I saw him, I don’t even know how to go forward. I never thought he would turn me down so quickly and so harshly.

I consider not answering the knock at my door, but misery loves company, so I kick open the door and allow the small troupe entry. Jay and Will fall in, and I don’t even give them a welcome—I just head back to the kitchen to find more wine glasses.

“Alright, it’s time we have a chat,” Will sighs, but I push a drink towards him in an attempt to shut him up.

“He doesn’t want my help, he doesn’t need my help, so I’m done,” I say, turning back to the recap of the baseball game. I see Jay and Will share a long look out of the corner of my eye, but I decide to ignore it. I finish off my wine glass in one smooth gulp.

“This is hurting you as much as it’s hurting him, and I think that’s the key here,” Will tries. I wholeheartedly ignore him.

“You can’t just hermit,” Jay says. “You can’t blame yourself for this. It’s turning you inside out.”

“Of course it is, but what can I do about it? I’ve already tried to help. He’s already made it abundantly clear. He doesn’t want me, nor does he need me. So I don’t understand why you both think we need to have some sort of intervention where you tell me it’s okay and to try again. I’m not going to try again. It’s not fair to me, and it’s not fair to him.”

“Then why are you still so much in pain about this?” Will says quietly. “It’s just… it’s so obvious that you don’t want to let go of this, no matter how hard you try.”

I wipe the tears from my eyes with my sleeve. When I look down, the wetness briefly staining the red, I realize why it’s obvious. I’m wearing his old red hoodie again. The one I can’t seem to let go, the one he left at my apartment, the one that I always loved. I hate myself for wearing it, but I’m committed now, and they know I’m too stubborn.

I try to buck up, I try to recalibrate, but I realize that the tears just continue to flow. There’s no way for me to stop them, and I’m sobbing.

“I’m terrified,” I hear myself say. “I’m terrified. I just want him to be safe. I just want him to be safe and healthy and he won’t even give me that.”

“I know,” Will says, pulling me into a hug. “Jay’s going to keep looking for him. Neither of you deserve this, and we’re gonna help you figure it out.”

* * *

**May 29, 2018**   
**2046 Hours**   
**1111 W 14th Place #122, Little Italy, Chicago**

I can’t stop thinking about the last conversation with Mouse. It’s been haunting me, sticking in the back of my mind. I don’t know why he can’t seem to get it. He can’t seem to understand where I’m coming from. Either that, or he doesn’t want to.

Neither of us deserve this bullshit. Not so close to Al’s murder.

I need to get everything in check. Especially since I’m going to have to help plan a wedding. Will’s not going to be able to do any of this. Any decision he makes is going to get passed to me, anyway.

I want to sleep. I really do, but I can’t. I know I’m just going to lay there, unable to function.

I haven’t heard about where he was yet. I need to track him down. I need to make sure he’s safe. God, why didn’t I just set my shit aside before? I went to Germany to make sure he was okay. I wish I didn’t have to remind myself I still cared about him. I grab my phone and text Jay. I'm just exhausted enough to go after him one last time.

Me: _You find any info about where Mouse is right now?_

Jay: _I’m just headed down to get the report, hang on_

Me: _thanks for doing this. You didn’t have to_

Jay: _You know I have to. And honestly with Voight being the way he is right now it’s the best time to slip something under his nose_

Me: _Be careful. He still scares me_

Instead of responding, though, I get a phone call from him. I quickly put it on speaker.

“Hey. Got a hit,” he says. “Somewhere near the Wabash Avenue Bridge. That’s where he’s been the last couple days.”

“Right now?” I'm already putting on my shoes and am halfway to my door before he speaks.

“In the last hour. You’re not going down there, are you?”

“I’m going down there,” I say. “I’m goin’ down there. I’m pissed, Jay.”

He sighs. “Kate, don’t. Don’t go down there.”

“Why the fuck not?”

“It’s… it’s a homeless section of town,” he says. “Underneath the bridge they’ve got a homeless camp. You shouldn’t go down there. Don’t go down there.”

I have to grab the counter top. My keys stab my hand. “What?! What the fuck, Jay, why didn’t you lead with that?”

“I’ve done some digging into some of the other locations. It looks like he’s been kicked out of multiple halfway houses. Seems like he slept at his storage unit a few times last week.”

“Why?”

“Kate…”

“Fuck this, I’m going after him.”

“Are you drunk right now?” He accuses.

“What? No. What? Why?”

“You sound drunk.”

“I’ve been having trouble sleeping—”

“Dammit, Kate. How long?”

I rub my eyes. “Couple days?”

“You know what happens when you don’t sleep.”

I shut my door and lock it behind me.

“You’re leaving, aren’t you.”

“I’m going to find him. You can’t stop me.”

He sighs heavily. “Come by the precinct, I’ll come with you. I can't have you going alone.”

I’m already walking down 14th Street before I hang up. With each step, I feel my rage building. A homeless camp. All this time, bouncing between halfway houses, getting kicked out only to end up in a homeless camp.

With each step, I feel the rage building, and I know I’m going to explode sooner or later.

He did this to himself. He did this whole woe-is-me bullshit for himself. He had plenty of people to help him out, but by God, he’s too proud to ask for it. I'm gonna make him take the help.

“Kate. Wait up, we can drive. It’s too far to walk. Kate. Kate, are you even functioning right now?”

I can hear him, but I really don’t feel like responding. I break from my thought train and follow him to his SUV. We’re off into downtown before I even click on my seat belt.

“Have you heard from him?”

“No,” I say.

“Me neither. What did he even say to you? You never told me."

“A load of bullshit. I just don’t get it,” I say. “I don’t get him. What the fuck is his problem, Jay?”

“You know about as much as I do.”

“Why would he go to a homeless camp?! Why wouldn’t he… why…”

“Because he’s too damn proud and doesn’t want to be a burden on anyone.”

“There’s more to it,” I whisper, looking out the window. “There’s more to it. He’s been through this shit before. He should know we’re here for him.”

“I don’t think he does.”

“Are you accusing me?”

“No, I’m not. I’m not accusing you of anything. Just… consider what he’s going through. Consider the ups and downs you went through.”

“I have thought about it,” I say. “We’re collecting him and bringing him home.”

“Already thought about it,” he says. “Whether he likes it or not.”

“Glad we had this talk,” I say as he pulls into the streets of Lower Lower Wacker. He parks alongside one of the old retaining walls, and I see the tents of the homeless camp ahead.

“Can you chill for one minute?”

“No.”

“You’ve gotta come this way, c’mon,” he says. The ambient light of the city fades into the weird yellow light of the underneath of the city. As we head deeper into what feels like tunnels, I see a few sleeping people stir. I glance at Jay, and he pulls his shirt over his gun and badge.

I see one man, an older man with a hat pulled low. “Hey. You know a guy, goes by Mouse?”

He shakes his head and turns away. I try the lady next to him, and she ignores me as well.

“Twenty bucks to anyone who can give me a location on Mouse,” Jay calls out, and I see a dirty hand raise a few yards down.

“Young guy, wheelchair?” He grunts at us. I nod, and he points down further into the Triangle. “Should be down at the other corner. Came down about an hour ago.”

I start running as soon as I get his location. When I skid to a stop on the corner the guy mentioned, I see him, hunched in his wheelchair, trying to sleep. I kneel down in front of him, not too close, and say his name a few times. It doesn’t take him long.

“Kate. What the hell—what the hell are you doing down here?” God, he looks exhausted. He's just tired and dirty, unkempt with bloodshot eyes. He pulls his beanie further over his long hair like he's trying to hide it from me.

“I’m getting you, c’mon. Let's go.”

He glances to Jay, then back to me. “How the—you tracked my number.”

“Of course we tracked your number,” I say. “Get your shit. You’re coming with me.”

“The fuck are you talking about?”

“You’re not staying down here,” I say. “Not while I’m around. Not while Jay’s here.”

He can’t really say much of anything. He just shifts his focus back and forth between the two of us.

“Why… why the actual fuck?” I begin. “I just… I don’t even know where to begin. I don’t. I cannot believe—I cannot begin to even fathom—why you think you have to be down here. You… you’re better than this,” I hiss. “You have people. You have us.”

“I can’t do this to you—” He tries, but I wave him off. The exhaustion, the pain, everything comes out of me through clenched teeth.

“No, no. It’s my turn. I’m talking. You listen to me. I suffered through almost two years. Two years, not knowing what was going to happen to you. And then—and then! What happens? This bullshit! But you won’t let me help you. You won’t let me help at all. And I don’t know why. I have been here, waiting for you, terrified, for you to come home in broken pieces. Shattered. In a box. And this is the bullshit welcome I get.”

“I never wanted you to wait,” he tries. “I never wanted you to waste your time on me! Do you not remember? I broke it off with you! I tried to tell you to forget about me—”

“I don’t get you!” I cry. “You really think I’m going to just forget about you? You really think—you really—you dragged me out of my hole. You dragged me out. I never thought I would ever get out, and you did it. I never thought I would be able to go back to civilian life, but somehow, I did. And then…” My voice cracks, and I can’t stop it. “Then St. Boniface happened, and I fell again. And who was there?”

“Kate, please—” Jay tries. My voice keeps echoing down the street, but I don’t care.

“Who was there?” I yell.

“I was,” Mouse says in the smallest voice possible.

“Yes! So why can’t you let me be here for you?!”

Jay bodily pulls me back, away from Mouse and some of the uncomfortable looking people around him.

“Let me talk to him for a minute, okay?”

“You can say shit in front of me. You know that.”

“Just let me talk to him. Please.”

I break. I knew I would, but I just had to make it difficult. I walk away, to the other side of the street, where no one was sleeping. It was too close to the open air, I notice. No one wanted to get rained on.

I don’t even know what to say. I don’t know what will convince him, but at this point, I know I have more. I have more, and Jay can’t cut me off this time. God, I'm so tired. I'm so exhausted, and I know it's just coming through. But I can't sleep. Not yet. Not until I know where Mouse is sleeping.

I see Jay shift his head at me and beckons me over. He paces away, giving us the floor. Mouse crumples in his wheelchair, defeated.

“You don’t… you don’t deserve this,” he says, but it doesn't matter. I don't think he even believes himself. Not anymore.

"Jesus Christ!" I explode. Jay throws his hands in the air and walks away. “No, I don’t! I don’t deserve your behavior! Not at Al’s funeral, not… not at the hospital! Not... not the last time I saw you. Our friend died! Our friend and… God, I owe him so much, and you fucking had to go and ruin it. You ruined it, whether you tried to or not. I’m still trying to mourn him. I can’t, because I’m scared shitless about you! I thought for a brief second that you coming home would mean I don't have to live every moment scared you're going to come home in a box. But that fear? It's still there! It's still fucking there! When are you gonna get it through your head? When?! Dammit, Mouse, I don’t get it! I don’t get you! I don’t understand why you somehow think that you deserve this! You do not. Why the hell would I be doing this if you deserved all this shit? I have nearly died, I have looked for you! I went to you! I couldn't fucking deal with you being in Landstuhl. You didn't have to be alone, but when I knew you would be okay, I just... I couldn't be there. I didn't know. I..." I gasp for breath, realizing suddenly what I had said.

His furrowed brow softens, and for the first time in this screaming match, he looks up to me. Tears brim his blue eyes.

“I thought so,” he whispers. “I… I just didn’t know.”

I kneel down in front of him. I decide to lean into this. “I called for you. I called for months. I checked to see if you were in that fucking hospital, and I didn’t want you alone like I was. You do not deserve this,” I articulate. “You don’t. And I don’t either. Come home. Please. You know full well I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t want you to.”

He reaches down, into the side of his wheelchair, and pulls something out. When he shows it to me, it’s the Post-It note. I didn’t realize I had left it there. I must have forgot to bookmark one of my textbooks…

“I had no idea how this would have gotten there. And it was my handwriting, and I think I remember writing it…” he drifts, just for a moment, before coming back.

“Jay and I left before you woke up,” I whisper.

“Why?”

I can’t look at him. I close my eyes and let the tears run out. “That’s a question for another day.”

He just holds it in his hand, looking at it, looking at me, looking at Jay. It’s enough. He’s shaken enough to start nodding. It’s light at first, but it’s there. It’s enough. I’ve yelled enough. I've yelled myself hoarse.

“I fucked up, Kate. I fucked up big time. I… I never should…” He runs his hand over his face. “You’ve… you’ve been trying to help since I got back. I… I fucked up.”

“I’m just as fucked up as you are,” I whisper.

“No, you aren’t,” he says. “You’re better. You’ve always been better.”

“That’s a lie—”

“Just… you’re the only one who can deal with me, Kate.”

My heart drops. I remember when he first said that to me. At the ice-skating rink, when he surprised me when I completed my physical therapy. I skate there now.

“Pretty sure you’re the only one who can deal with me.”

We share a brief moment. It’s short, it’s silent, but I know I finally made some sort of headway with him. Even if it’s brief, short, silent.

“You have to get better, Mouse. You have to. You have to, or I’ll fall apart. I am falling apart, whether I like it or not."

I wait, I try not to react, try not to move, try not to cry, but nothing seems to work. He leans forward and pulls me into a hug. I just hold him close, and it almost feels normal. When I pull away, he’s smiling. Just a little. Just a hint of what it was before.

“You’re moving in with me,” I announce, and his slight, endearing smirk falls in shock.

“What? Kate, I can’t do that to you. Jay said—”

“Nope, it’s happening,” I say. “Until—until you can get on your feet, of course.”

“Of course,” he murmurs. “Of course, I mean. Okay. Okay, I guess.”

“I’m going to need you to keep some promises. One, no more of this bullshit. This negativity. Two, therapy. Emotional and physical. I can get it set up with a single call.”

“I can’t freeload off of you.”

“You’re not going to. You’re not putting me out. I have a second bedroom, I have an elevator, I have shit from when I had my knee bullshit, and you’re going to do what I tell you to do. You’re going to get better, Mouse. I’m going to make sure of it.”

He closes his eyes against the tears. I hear a murmur: “not today”.

“You keep saying that.”

“What?”

“’Not today.’ What do you mean?”

He shakes his head. “We’re not talking about it. Not now,” he says.

I start gathering up what little stuff Mouse had with him—including, I realize, the blanket I gave him a couple months ago—and Jay comes over to help. I hope to God and all the angels and saints that this works.

I need it to work. I need him to get better. I don’t think I could get better if he didn’t.

* * *

**May 29, 2018**  
2311 Hours  
1111 W 14th Place #122, Little Italy, Chicago

It’s better if I don’t try to help him. I’ve got the few bags I can carry, plus a box of whatever it was he thought was most important out of his small storage unit after stopping there with Jay. The quilt I brought him months ago sits inside. 

I sent Jay back to the office. I don’t need him here for this exchange.

The ride up on the elevator was way more awkward than I would have liked. It’s a step, though. It’s a step back through to recovery.

I wordlessly try to find my key on my key ring, but I can’t quite see it. He slips the key ring out of my hand, and he finds the key. He remembers which one it was. I don’t know how I feel about it.

I follow him inside; he wheels himself down the hallway and to the spare bedroom I never use. It takes me all of a minute to set down his stuff, and he just looks to me tiredly.

“It’s been a while since I’ve had a real bed.”

“I’m restraining myself from yelling at you. I need you to know that.”

He slips past me. The last time he was here, he was leaving, almost two years ago.

“I've got the seat I used for the shower—"

"Left cabinet, under the sink?"

"Yeah. Yeah, same place," I say. “I can order some food if you want.”

“I’m… I’m fine right now,” he says, but he doesn’t quite head that way yet. It’s like he’s still got something on his mind. “You told me there were rules,” he begins, looking down at his hands. For the first time, I can really see the scarring from the burns—slipping all the way down from his t-shirt sleeve almost to his fingers. It’s not as bad as I expected, but it still looks bad enough. He absentmindedly scratches the edge of the burn on his left wrist.

“I told you. No more bullshit. No more dragging yourself down. No more telling me that you’re a burden and you’re freeloading and you’re just going to drag me down with you. None of that. Not anymore.”

He just gives me the slightest smirk. It’s a start.

“I’m going to contact Dr. Charles, and I’m going to let Connor know that you’re going to start coming in. Dr. Charles will set you up with therapy, and Connor will get you sorted out with physical therapy. You’re going to walk again. Connor told me you could, easily.”

“I just need to get my strength back,” he says quietly. “I can stand, and I have feeling, it’s just… it’s rough, Kate. It’s rough.”

“It’s gonna be rough. It’s gonna suck. But you’re gonna get better. I promise you that.”

“Don’t make promises—”

“Oh, I intend to keep this one,” I say, kneeling down in front of him and extending my hand. “Alright, is this a deal?”

He shakes my hand, finally giving me the smile I deserve. As he goes into the bathroom, I feel my heart fall. For a brief moment, it was like nothing had ever changed. I have to take the time he takes in the shower for myself, breathing through the blossoming panic attack.

This isn’t supposed to feel like this, I remind myself. We’re both different. Think about what he did to you.

Regardless, he’s still Mouse. He may not be the same Mouse, but I keep seeing hints of who he used to be. As soon as I hear the water running, the tears start. They haven’t hit like this in… in years, I think. I’ve sunk down to the floor beside my bed. When did I get in here? I don’t even remember. I’m just crying and I can’t stop. I’m crying so hard, I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe, I can’t think, I just feel my hands shaking.

I don’t know why. I wish I knew why. The breakdown came so suddenly, even though I know this is a turning point. He’s going to get better now. He’s going to get better, and I’m going to help him, but I can’t stop fucking crying. I’m so Goddamn tired. I just need to rest.

“Hey, hey. Kate. Kate, breathe.”

“I’m trying! I… I’m trying. I just… I was so scared. I was terrified, and—and it’s just…”

I finally look at him. He slid down onto the floor with me. It’s the first time I’ve seen him without his wheelchair. I notice he’s shaved the straggly beard he had managed to grow in the last couple weeks. He’s almost Mouse again. Barely a couple hours, and he’s already getting better.

“I fucked up,” he murmurs. “I didn’t know.”

“Didn’t know what?” I say, trying to wipe my eyes and keep breathing. Just gotta breathe.

“I had no idea you… you were still… you…” He struggles to find the words. I struggle to find my breath. He finally finds what he wants to say. I look down. He takes my hand in his. “I didn’t want you to help me because you felt like you had to.”

“I don’t feel like I have to,” I say. “I want to. I wanted to. I’ve always wanted to.”

“And I’ve wasted two months thinking you didn’t.”

“You had to come to that conclusion on your own. We both know that.”

He pulls me into a hug. I don’t know how long we stay there, but I sleep through the night for the first time in weeks.


	9. I am not miserable now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things start looking up. Kate and Mouse start to rebuild together, and they're starting to look forward, even under the impossibly gray sky Mouse still hangs under.

**June 2, 2018**   
**2314 Hours**   
**1111 W 14th Place #122, Little Italy, Chicago**

I’m so tense. It’s not for the usual reasons, no; for the last couple days, I’ve actually been calm. I know where Mouse is, I know he’s safe, and I know he’s going to get better, so it feels like the weight has been lifted from my shoulders.

At least a little. I think about the envelope I found in his bedroom, addressed to me. It was on top of one of his boxes, like he had found it and forgotten it, next to the now fading and crinkled Post-It. I shouldn't have opened it. He's going to know. I tried to do it so I could reseal it, but then...

I don't know when it was from. I don't know if he would ever want me to read it. I have no idea what I would say to him if he found out I looked. Instead, I let the tension rise in my chest over something else—the Chicago Cubs. I watch as they slip into the fourteenth inning when I hear the door unlock.

Mouse, thankfully, had actually went out to see Jay. Their little date had lasted longer than I expected, but that’s fine. They needed it. I needed the breathing room.

“What’s the score?”

“1-1, top of the 14th fucking inning,” I say. It’s so domestic, but I don’t want to even comment on it. It’s easier when it’s easy.

“14th inning? How? Why?” He sidles up next to me. I’m on the arm of the couch at this point. I don’t look at him—I can only focus on the television.

“This has been a mess,” I say. “A fucking mess. The number of strike outs… I can’t even tell you. This is a fucking mess.” Schwarber is on first, Contreras on second, when Almora goes up. We’re both silent. It’s like a church in here.

I hold my breath as he hits into deep right center. We’re up two in a blink and I’m roaring. I think the entire apartment complex is roaring. Mouse is just laughing. By the bottom of the 14th, we’re up six, and I’m happy. I’m content. I’m starving.

“You haven’t eaten, have you?” He asks.

“No. Have you?”

“Bar snacks—”

I’m on my phone. “I’ll take care of it.”

“And you mean you’re gonna order in, right? You never cook on game days,” he says out of the side of his mouth.

“No comments from the peanut gallery,” I say. “Of course I’m ordering in.”

“Let me guess,” he says, heading into his bedroom. “Wing Yip Chop Suey or Connie’s?”

I finish my order on Connie’s website and lean down the hallway. “Shut the fuck up.”

I turn on ESPN, I wait for him and the food; by the time he’s done, he comes back out and eyes my television. I stand up and sit on one of my bar stools, trying to give myself space. I need to, to fight off the blush in my cheeks. He takes the time to turn around and eye the review of the Cubs game.

“How are we doing this season?” He comes back out, watching the recap of the beginning of the game.

“Eh, not horrible, but we could do better,” I say. I close the distance between us. The awkwardness still lingered, of course, but the familiarity came back so quickly with the arrival back in my apartment. I touch his hair, still entirely too long.

“Let me cut it,” I say, but he just shrugs.

“Do whatever you want with it, I don’t care.”

I go get the scissors and razor from my bathroom, and he’s still intently watching the sports recap, like he hadn’t seen anything in years, and it gave him just the tiniest amount of joy.

“Can you move to a chair so I don’t get it all in the hardware of your wheelchair?”

I pull a dining room chair over, and he manages to get to his feet and hold onto the couch.

"I didn't know you could."

"For short periods of time," he says, easing back down into the kitchen chair. Every movement is shaky, but it’s movement. "I just... I didn't have a reason to try, you know?"

The comment weighs heavy on me. Instead of thinking about it, I just work on getting rid of the shaggy mess he’s got going on.

“How has everyone else done since… since I left?”

I’m happy for the distraction. I don’t know if I could handle a more serious conversation. “Blackhawks, they made it the playoffs, but got swept first game, and then last season was the fucking worst. Worst since college, I think. They need to pull it back this year or I’m going to go apeshit.”

“Do they have the manpower?”

“I’m gonna go in and play myself if they’re not careful,” I snap. He just starts laughing, and I have to stop cutting his hair and giggle.

“I wouldn’t put it past you,” he mutters.

“You remember 2016 for sure,” I say, although I don’t want to bring it up. “Cubs won the Series. Three… Three days after you left.”

“I remember,” he says quietly.

“Almost made it again in 2017, and now we’re here. Bears, they fucked 2016, 2017, and I’m sure they’re going to get fucked again this year.”

“Sounds about right.”

“You’re being quiet.”

“I’m thinking,” he says. “At the hospital. You said you were glad I came back. It reminded me... it reminded me of a conversation you and I had. Uh, after our first Hawks game.”

I smile. I know what night he was talking about.

“I told you I was glad you came back. You said... you said Chicago was better with me in it.”

“I’ve always been here,” I say. “I never left.”

“Do you... do you still think that?”

I clean up some of my edges, and slip into his frame of sight, checking to see if I’ve missed anything. When I do, the unkempt look he had going on is gone. I brush the bits of hair that had fallen onto his shoulders off his t-shirt and onto the floor. My eyes graze the burns, the scars he’s gotten from this time around. They could be worse, I remind myself.

“You should have never left Chicago,” I say, flipping some of his hair out of his face. “I maintain that.” He looks up at me, and for the first time in years, I see the ghost of the man I had loved before. I find myself touching his jaw, making sure he doesn’t look away from me. He doesn’t need any encouragement. His shoulders drop like a weight had lifted.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs.

It slips out before I can think. “For what?”

“I’m sorry for what I did to you. You didn’t deserve that. Not after... not after all the shit we went through.”

“You’re right,” I say. “But you didn’t deserve any of this shit, either. It took you longer to figure that out.”

I’m thankful for the knock on my door that announced the arrival of our pizza. I don’t know if I could handle any more of that conversation. But he apologized. He apologized, and that’s enough for me. I finally feel like things could get better.

* * *

**June 16, 2018**   
**1411 Hours**   
**Gaffney Chicago Medical Center**

I mill about the emergency department, even though I really shouldn’t be past the doors, but I spy Natalie and she gives me a wide grin.

“Hey, KC! What’s up?”

“Oh, nothing much. Waiting for Mouse. How are you?”

She rolls her eyes. “Wedding planning.”

“I’m doing my best,” I say. “I really am. He’s doing his best. Trust me.”

I see her grinning, and when I look over my shoulder, I see Will, slipping from the break room into a patient room. He winks at Natalie and gives me a head nod.

“So, uh, how has Mouse been doing?”

She leans onto the counter top, beckoning me closer. “I could get in trouble talking about this, you know.”

“I’m on his emergency information. Besides, you’re not confiding anything that he and his doctors are talking about,” I say.

“True, but I don’t want HIPAA to come after me. The first week was rough. He did not want to be here. And he had a hard time after physical therapy. Will checked on him at the end of the first week, and he was pissed.”

“Why?” The elevator dings, and I go to check, but he’s not on his way down yet.

She looks too, and eyes me before continuing. “They told him he should have come in earlier. It’s going to take him longer to get back to where he was before. After an injury like that, at his strength level, it could take as little as three months. Now, it could be up to six. And unfortunately, his expectations are way higher than most.”

“He was a Ranger, Nat. He’s going to fight for it.” I search the elevator once more.

She gives me a smirk. “Now that he has something to fight for.”

“That’s not fair. You and Will have been talking.”

The smirk doesn’t go away. “We have. He filled me in on all the details. I think what you’re doing is admirable.”

“It’s what I would have wanted if the roles were reversed,” I mutter, hearing the elevator ding and looking towards it expectantly. He starts out of the elevator, looking happier than I usually do when I leave a chat with Dr. Charles, but I’ll take it.

“Oh, KC,” she chides. “You think it’s so complicated when it’s really so simple.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I snap.

She doesn’t buy my anger though. She just leans closer to me as Mouse approaches. “You kept looking at the elevator. You perked up when you saw he was on his way.”

Natalie leans back, and I find a capped pen to throw at her as Mouse finally makes it to me. She just starts giggling, picks it up, and walks away. He looks surprised when he sees me. I’m still not used to seeing him like this. Happy. Or at least something close to it.

“I didn’t know you were coming,” he says. “What are you doing here?”

“’Hey, Kate, how are you?’” I mock, tossing his Hawks hat at him. “What have you got planned for this afternoon?”

“Uh, look at me,” he says, extended his arms out. “Absolutely nothing.”

“Stop it. We talked about this.”

“I’m a work in progress.”

I start toward the door, throwing my bag—actually, my camouflage molle—over my shoulder. He eyes it warily, until I grab my hockey stick.

“Where are we going?” He asks tentatively. I walk in front of him, backwards, as we head outside.

“You up for a bit of a hike?”

He slips his hat on against the sun as we go out the opposite door we usually do. “I mean, sure?”

We head across the bridge. I actually struggle to keep up with him. “When we get to Ogden, veer right.”

“I thought you had practice today,” he asks over his shoulder. He seems to realize how fast he’s going and settles into a solid pace.

I didn’t realize how closely he had been paying attention. I mean, it’s only been several weeks, but something snapped in him, and I think the same thing snapped in me, too. “We do. I was hoping you would come watch.”

“Oh. Oh, okay,” he stutters. “I mean, sure. I guess we’re headed that way already.”

“You don’t want to?” I tease.

He immediately backpedals. “No, no. I do. I do. I haven’t… I’ve never seen you play before.”

“Well, it’s only a practice, so we’re playing against each other, but you’ll get a good enough taste. I’m not as brutal with the guys. We don’t chirp as much, and we don’t fight. It’s bad form.”

He’s silent for a while. He does that sometimes—drifts off in the middle of the conversation. He didn’t used to do it before. Maybe he did it before-before, the time before I knew him.

Mouse finally speaks. “You really like this team, don’t you?”

“North Side Valentines!” I call out, happy for the distraction. “Got our name from the brutal and unfounded—”

“It was a mob!” He articulates. We’ve had this conversation before. I remember it—during his first Blackhawks game, now over two years ago. He tried to tell me the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre was a turf war, and I shut him down saying it was so much more than that.

I gasp. “You speak blasphemy.”

“They were both mobs!” He cries, laughing. “Capone and Moran, they were both mobsters—”

“My people were brutally gunned down—”

He just starts laughing hysterically, and effectively cuts me off. He seems to know where we’re going now, and he turns down Monroe.

“You sure it’s okay that I come watch?”

I walk quickly next to him, my bag slung precariously over my shoulder. I’m more nervous than I should be, but it’s fine. “I told you. It’s not like you’re a spy or anything. Besides, we don’t usually have someone who can spot when we’re fucking up. You’ve watched more hockey than most.”

“But not more than you, right?” He says, grinning at me a little. I open the door for him and let him go through first, mainly so he can’t see the blush I felt rise to my cheeks. When we both get into the rink, though, I have to hold my breath. This is the first time we’ve both been here together since he closed it down for me.

I don’t want to talk about it. It’s not fair to either of us.

“Okay, let me get this straight,” he begins as I start to put on my gear. Most of the guys are on the rink already. “You’re the center. Howie is the other center.”

“Correct,” I say. “That’s Howie.” Howie, as much as I love him, it’s entirely generic in all senses of the word: moderate height, moderate build, light brown hair. Mouse quickly moves on.

“Goalie is Edger—”

I point out the biggest guy on the team. He doesn’t move fast, but he blocks most of the goal with his body, anyway.

“Team captain is AK, he plays left forward, and you’ve got… Laser?”

I point them both out on the ice. AK is already barking out some orders to the rest of them, his commanding presence overshadowing most of the others. Laser, quiet and focused, follows them to a T.

“Dags, and…”

“Dags and Kilts on right,” I say. “Kilts likes it when I fight, and Dags hates it.”

“Glad to see they’ve got you balanced. Goop and Raz, Murf and Chicks on defense.”

“That one, you’ve got down,” I chuckle. “Goop’s a know it all. He’s the one probably complaining to AK right now,” I say, not even looking up. Mouse just looks and chuckles. “Murf is quiet, but he secretly loves me. Chicks is the only adult. He’s a dentist.”

“Good to have on a hockey team.”

“Haven’t needed him yet. And Raz…” I find him on the rink. He’s off in the corner by himself, and I think he’s singing. “He’s fucking weird. I love him, but he’s weird. He’s usually the reason I get in half my fights.”

“Is that something that normally happens?” He asks. “You getting in fights?”

He finally glances to me. His eyes just graze over me, and he realizes I’ve changed into my practice uniform without him paying attention. I ignore it, stand up, and put on my helmet. “Of course, Mouse! I’m the enforcer!”

“This is an all men’s league!”

I wink. “Exactly.”

“Hey, you never told me your nickname.”

“Me? The female enforcer in an all men’s league?” I say, acting cute. “They call me Full Tilt Tilly. Tilly for short.”

“Really? Really.”

With that, I jump over the railing and head onto the ice, leaving Mouse with a humorous exit. As I join up with the team, there’s a silent question among the group.

“Fine, fine. I brought a friend. He’s going to watch practice, okay?”

“Does he know what he’s doing?” Goop asks. It’s a benign question, but I know I have to snap at him to maintain my status.

“He loves hockey and if he sees something we could be doing better, he’ll say it. Chill out, Goop.”

Raz and Murf chuckle at me, and AK starts giving out orders. We run a few plays first. I try not to be distracted, looking at Mouse’s face, trying to see what his opinion is, but in reality, I want to know what he thinks about my game.

So when AK decides it’s time for half of us to switch into our official jerseys so we have some semblance of an idea who is on our team for the rest of the afternoon—Edger, though, is screwed, so we always play to his goal and make him try to block any goal that we shoot—I skate over to Mouse.

“Hey, go into my bag and grab my green jersey.”

He immediately looks for it and I pull my practice jersey—a funny joke, I might add, from the guys—and toss it to Mouse.

“Bobby Hull? Really?”

I pull my jersey over my pads and turn around, pointing at the number.

“Wanna ask me that again?”

“I don’t know what I expected.”

I turn back around, skating backwards. “Bobby Hull, Gordie Howe, and me. Number nine, baby!”

Before I feel my cheeks blushing, I turn back around and head towards the middle of the rink to face off against Howie. It’s still not enough that I’ve got my game face on; they still take the minute to berate me.

“Really, Tilt, who is he?” Goop asks. “When I skated by him earlier, he said I was overpassing. Had no idea.”

“Told me to lean into my turns so I could move faster,” Howie says, shrugging.

“He’s my friend, okay? He knows what he’s talking about.”

“He does,” AK says. “He’s improving our game.”

“Can we play the damn game?” I say, waiting for AK to drop the puck and slip back into formation.

“Are you blushing?” Howie says, grinning. “He’s your friend, is he, Tilly?”

“There’s a no chirping rule during practice,” I snap back.

“Yeah, because someone couldn’t stop punching Raz!”

“He just kept walking into my fist, okay? That was one time!”

AK just rolls his eyes and drops the puck.

* * *

A full game later, I finally make it back to Mouse, exhausted, sweaty as hell, but surprisingly in one piece. I take off my pads in the stands and pack them all into my bag in silence. We’re out and onto the street before I speak.

“So, what’d you think?”

“Shit, Kate, I didn’t realize you were that good.”

“What did I tell you? Did you think I was exaggerating? I know what I’m about.”

“Well,” he starts, the slight smirk coming back. “You do kind of strangle your stick sometimes.”

“Is that a euphemism?”

He rolls his eyes. “No. Loosen up your bottom hand. And when you do that, you can extend your reach at least a foot or so.”

I think about it as we walk down Racine, miming it with my stick and trying to visualize it.

“Huh. You’re right.”

“I know what I’m about,” he mocks. I just roll my eyes.

“Hey, it’s quite a ways to get back to the apartment, are you… you good?”

He wheels himself confidently, zipping past me. “I’ve sat for three hours. You, on the other hand, spent three hours on an ice rink.”

I push my hair back out of my face. “Yeah, I kind of look like a mess, don’t I?”

“Not as bad as I’ve looked in the recent past.”

“Hey,” I chide, jogging to catch up. “None of that. Okay? We’re not going to talk about that.”

“Can we, though?”

“Oh. I mean, we can.” It’s my turn to stutter. God, I’m starting to sound like him when he gets flustered.

“I just. I know I said sorry. I just feel like I should keep apologizing to you.”

“We’ve been through this, Mouse.”

“I know, but know you’ve opened up your place for me, and I just… I feel like I’m freeloading, and I can’t do that to you.”

“Consider this… consider this like, payback for all the times you helped me. I don’t feel like I owe you anything, I want to make that clear, and you shouldn’t feel like that either. But you and I… we have a history, and we can’t deny that. But you helped me for so long, and it’s my time to return the favor.”

“But after what I did to you—”

“You came back,” I cut him off. “You came back, and that’s all that matters.”

“Is it really that easy for you?”

“No,” I immediately say. “But I’m a work in progress.”

He smiles. We keep quoting each other in what seems like an attempt to one up each other, but somehow, it just comes out sweet.

“Thank you,” he says quietly. I almost can’t hear him over the sound of the evening traffic on Racine. At the intersection, he reaches for my hand. I try not to look as he runs his thumb over my hand, but I can’t help but smile.

But no. I can’t. I’m not ready for that, so I let him go and bounce into the crosswalk.

“How about we stop at De Pesada on the way back, get like, six burrito grandes, and settle in for the Cubs game?”

“That sounds fantastic,” he finally says as we make it to the other side of the street. It’s the first genuine smile I see from him since… I can’t remember.

* * *

**June 20, 2018**   
**0238 Hours**   
**1111 W 14th Place #122, Little Italy, Chicago**

I hear him from the other bedroom tossing and turning. It’s definitely not the first night I’ve heard it, ever since he moved into my apartment. Granted, I’m also awake, so there’s that.

But it doesn’t seem to get any better, so I get out of bed and slip through the hallway to the second bedroom. He’s somehow wound himself up around the blankets—I try to untuck them, but I can’t.

“Mouse, you need to wake up,” I whisper, trying not to touch him, but he whimpers in his sleep. I shouldn’t, I know better, but I touch his shoulder, his face. “It’s me. You’re having a nightmare. Wake up. Wake up—”

He gasps awake, eyes wide, his hand clutching my wrist tight. When he regains his bearings, still panting, he realizes and lets me go.

“You wanna talk about it, or do you want a distraction?” I ask as he runs his hands over his face.

“No. No, no talking about it. Just... I’m fine. I’m okay.”

I sit down on the edge of the bed as he pulls himself up against the bedframe. “You sure?”

“No,” he scoffs, yawning.

“You wanna go back to sleep?”

“Not particularly.”

He just leans his arms on his knees, his eyes flickering between his own hands and his wheelchair.

“I never wanted this, you know.”

“I know.”

He glances to me, exhausted, but surprised.

“I get it, Mouse. I get it more than you think.” I sit on the other side of the bed, and he inches over to give me some room. “Shit’s simple over there. It’s black and white.”

“There’s just so much noise, Kate.”

“And you’re going to have to learn to listen through it,” I say. “And it takes a long time. I’m still working on it.”

He looks up to me again. “How did you spend eight years overseas? I mean, I did three tours, and then… then that happened, and then I was home for four years, then back in for a year and a half. But you? You never stopped.”

“I was running from a lot of things,” I admit, looking down into the quilt on what has become his bed. “My parents disowned me. They all left Chicago. Only had the Halsteads left, and Jay went off to the Rangers, Will went off to med school. I didn’t know what I wanted to do. My only marketable skills were sports most women don’t get far playing. I’m good at running away, and taking beatings, and giving beatings, and talking to people who would forget me as soon as I would walk away.”

“That’s not true.”

“That’s all I did overseas. Until… until that happened. So I was kind of forced into a decision. I had to stop running and start building something.”

“I don’t know if I’m capable of building anything.”

“Maybe not now, but someday. You gotta rebuild yourself first.”

It takes him a while. He sits there, staring at his hands, trying to control his breathing. A few times, I feel like he’s going to say something, but then he stops, like he’s not ready.

“Come here,” he whispers, and I automatically obey. He shifts over, and I crawl into bed beside him. It’s too familiar. For a while, he looks me over, his hand resting almost absentmindedly on my hip, under the covers. I almost reminded him we weren’t like that anymore, but I couldn’t. The words wouldn’t leave my lips.

“Are you doing okay?” He asks, pushing a piece of my hair back from my face. “You’re still having nightmares too. I heard you the other night.”

“We just are constantly keeping each other awake, aren’t we?”

He wraps his hand around my waist and pulls me closer to him. I’m afraid I’m going to lose my self-control, or he’s going to, but instead, he whispers, “Why are you doing this?”

“You know why.”

“Kate.”

I sigh. Even the way he says my name makes me want to answer. “You helped me. You bent over backwards to help me.”

“I don’t think that’s the full answer.”

“It’s not,” I admit.

He looks away from me, and I know something else is on his mind. It weighs heavily, heavier than the weight that lifted off him earlier.

“What’s wrong?”

“I just... I...” He seems to struggle again, trying to find the words to say, until I realize he’s fighting tears. “You asked me. You asked me about what I meant. ‘Not today’.”

My heart starts to fall. I’m terrified to know the answer, because I already think I know.

“You… you deserve to know. I didn’t want to live anymore. I was considering... I was thinking about it. There were worse days, and then there were other days when I said ‘not today’.”

“How long?” I ask, wiping the tears from my face before I even noticed they were falling.

“Since I woke up from the coma. Couple of months.”

“Do you... do you still?”

“Do you forgive me for what I did?”

The question just makes me panic more. “Mouse, do you still—”

“Answer the question.”

“I do.” The words are out before I even think about them. “I forgive you. I forgive you for leaving the way you did, and… and for how you acted when you came back. I do. I have to.”

“And you really believe that I... that I could get better?” He takes a moment to brush the hair from my face. It’s such a familiar gesture that I feel the flutter of my heart.

“Absolutely. You already are.”

“Then no, Kate. Not anymore.”

He pulls me into a half hug and kisses me on the forehead. I wake up, light flooding my apartment, after a dreamless sleep in his arms.


	10. Up to my knees now—do I wade? Do I dive?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kate's bloodlust is soon to be satiated at the hockey game against her nemeses. Even with her team, though, she's distracted by the surprise improvement Mouse has shown when he appears at the rink.

**July 14, 2018**   
**1337 Hours**   
**Johnny’s Ice House East**

We're about to start an afternoon game against the West Town Ruskies. I hate this team. I really do. I hate their name, I hate their vibe, I hate everything about them. As we skate around on our half of the ice before the first game starts, AK is already trying to hold me back.

“I know what you’re thinkin’, Tilly, don’t do it.”

“I’m gonna fight ‘em. You know who’s on this team.”

Raz circles us and I hear him speak in a Doppler effect: “I know. It’s Berkowitz. We know you’re gonna.”

“Can you score a few times before you do?” Kilts says, cracking his neck. I glare at him as Raz makes another lap.

“Dude, I feel it in my bones. This is gonna be a good game,” I say. “I’m in the mood. I’m gonna destroy someone today.”

"Well, at least make sure it’s worth your while,” AK sighs. He knows it’s not really a good idea to go against me right now, so I at least try to do a couple laps on our side to clear my head.

We’re doing decently in the A-Elite League right now. We’ve only started about two weeks ago, and we’re 3-1. We’re about to be 4-1, if I have any say in today’s game.

I have to be optimistic. I just had a note from Mouse saying he would be out when I woke up in the morning. I don’t know where he was, but I’m assuming he’s okay. He left me a note. I call that progress.

“Who picked this damn music?” Goop yells. “Was this Tilly again?”

“You’re a dirty Italian traitor!” I yell to him. He flips me off before putting on his glove. “These are the songs of our homeland!”

“It’s Flogging Molly, you dumbass,” Chicks already looks exhausted as he shakes his head.

Raz is still doing laps. I hear him as he passes: “No ball or chain, no prison shall keep, we’re the rebels of the Sacred Heart…”

In retaliation, I do a couple of laps, then gain some speed, and attempt a double Axel in my hockey gear. I don’t get as high as I should, but it makes Murf laugh that loud belly laugh I get him to do more than anyone else.

“New faces, heads up,” Laser says, gesturing with his head towards where the seating was. We don’t get a lot of people watching, this is more for us, but I see the small group congregating. Natalie clings to Will, grinning widely as she looks out over the ice rink. Will seemingly tries to find me. He knows I have the number 9 jersey.

Next to Will, I see Jay, but he’s helping someone—

I feel my jaw drop. That’s why I hadn’t seen him today. He’s walking. He’s wielding a pair of arm braces, and Jay’s helping him down the steps to the seats, but he’s walking. Mouse is actually here.

I can’t believe they came.

“Anyone know who they are?” Murf asks. “Could be for the Ruskies.”

“They’re not,” I immediately correct, not looking away from the group. “They’re here for us.”

“How do you know?”

“The two in the middle? Those are my brothers.”

“The ginger and the one who looks like a cop?” Dags adds, kicking up some shards of ice as he stops. “I don’t see the resemblance.”

“We grew up together,” I say, but I’m too distracted as Mouse leans over to Will to say something to the group of them, and they start laughing. He is too. He’s happy, at least for the moment. When he sits back, he turns his hat backwards. It’s almost a tradition now.

“Wait, that’s your friend that came to practice!” Goop adds. “He’s not in his wheelchair!”

I’ve got to focus. AK gives us our first assignments. I’m on the ice with AK and Dags. Murf and Chicks have our backs. The others head off the rink.

“You good?” AK asks, sliding past me to get into position for the faceoff. I head towards the center. I just glance back up to the group of them. They’ve all found me. I slip in my mouthguard. I can’t even begin to address that in my brain right now, but I can see Mouse grinning from here.

We have to obliterate this team.

The Ruskies’ center is about twice my size. My mortal enemy: Berkowitz. When we square up for the faceoff, he gives me a once over.

“Hey, Cavanagh. You still think you can pull your own in a men’s league?”

I get up in his face, as close as he’ll let me. “I don’t know, why don’t you tell me when you figure it out? Maybe we can get together to exchange notes.”

I hear an audible “oh no” from the stands. I think it’s from Will.

But I don’t look. I can’t look, because the puck is dropping and the clock has started.

I already deke the asshole, faking left and then shooting back and right. AK picks it up down by our goal, but he’s already about to get double teamed by their defenders. How did we get to this point already?

“Tilly!” He cries, and he passes it laterally to me. I take the advantage of the Ruskies undercutting my authority and start a break out run.

I already feel the rage slipping through my blood stream. Berkowitz pissed me off. And when I have people watching. I gotta up my game this time.

First, I check the nearest defender, fake right, and wrist shot over the left. It’s a snipe if I’ve ever seen one. 1-0.

“Coast to coast!” I hear from the stands—Jay, I think— as I skate backwards and purposely weave past Berkowitz. I blow him a kiss as we head back to the faceoff, and Berkowitz can’t even trash talk me when he settles down in front of me.

“Did I hurt your feelings?” I say, giving him the saddest face I can muster.

“Dammit, Tilly, don’t do it,” AK says.

“Just let her get it out of her system!” Raz calls.

I crack my neck. I’m starting to feel unhinged, and it’s a glorious feeling. It’s one I haven’t had in a long time. Things are good. Things are getting better.

“Front wheel drive, boys,” I yell out.

“You sure?” Dags says.

I stare down Berkowitz. “Positive.”

With an exhale, the puck drops again, and I’m just a little faster than Berkowitz. His loss.

Instead of shooting backwards into the boys, I snatch the puck and slap shot it into the Ruskies’ territory. Okay, it’s fine, it’s a turnover, but barely. They’re not ready. It’s a bold move.

I check their left forward so hard it’s almost boarding, but he doesn’t make contact with the wall and I’m off the hook, and the puck is mine.

“Tilly! Eyes!”

Berkowitz is charging towards me so I try a breakout play around the back of their goal. It works: the boys hold off the Ruskies like a defending battalion.

When I get into scoring position, I slap shot it so hard, the sound echoes through the rink, but I don’t have time to see if it goes in because I’m bodychecked so hard I’m boarded. I slam so hard into the boards it knocks the wind out of me and I’m on the ice, gasping for breath. I hear the ref’s whistle.

“Did I hurt your feelings?” Berkowitz mocks. Dags is already cruising to take this asshole out, but I hold up my hand to make him stop. He stops fast, next to me, and helps me up, the entire time staring at Berkowitz.

But luckily, the ref calls it, and the next five minutes are peaceful: AK swaps me out for Howie for a while and I can take a breather. I take off my bucket and shake out my hair. It’s tangled and wet from sweat already but that’s fine. I’m over it already.

“You good?”

I look over my shoulder and Will has shifted down a couple rows. “I’m good, I’m fine. That one hurt,” I say under my breath. I’m wheezing a little. “I’ll get him back.”

“You’re gonna fight, aren’t you?” He deadpans.

“That asshole needs to be taught a lesson. He needs to be fucked up, Will. I can’t believe I’m gonna fuck him up.”

“Well, you don’t have to,” Will tries.

“No, I’m gonna.”

“I can’t say anything that’ll change your mind.”

We both get silent for a little while as I watch, but it’s still bothering me. “When did Mouse stop using his wheelchair, and who was gonna be the one to tell me?!”

He smirks and looks over his shoulder. I see Mouse, leaning against one of his braces and staring at the ice intently under his Hawks hat, turned backwards.

“Boards! Boards, use the damn boards!”

I can’t stop myself from smiling. I catch his attention, though, and glances down at me. Between his smile and his dimples, my heart jumps again. He gives me a wink for my troubles.

“Damn, Kate, you are in deep.”

I turn around, trying to focus on the game again. “So what else is new?”

“He wanted to surprise you. Said you mentioned the league was starting back up. Wanted to be on his feet before the middle of July.”

Will gets up and leaves, touching my shoulder as he goes, but the feeling stays until the period is over. I’m back on the ice before I know it, even though my shoulder still hurts from slamming into the boards.

I realize what I’ve gotta do. I’ve got to go for the Hat Trick. Not the hat trick, I realize, but the Gordie Howe. They’ve swapped their center for Berkowitz, so I have to face that asshole again.

I have to. I look up to the stands, and I see him, perked up, ready for my faceoff. We make eye contact. I can’t hide my smile.

I’ve already got the goal. I need an assist and a fight. Both I can get without even trying.

“Aww, are you done nursing your wounds?”

“I’m going to eat your soul for breakfast, and then ask your wife out for brunch,” I dig back. I get the final chirp in before the puck drops.

Berkowitz gets it this time, but that’s fine. Edger knows what he’s doing, he’s been goaltending for years, and blocks any attempt to get past him. I slip between their defenders—another benefit of being small, even in gear—and steal the puck back. I’m about to be slammed again, so I pass to Kilts. He starts taking it down and draws the other team off of me quickly.

I slip past a defender and start an approach like I’m about to do an ice-skating jump. I feint and practically steal the puck from Kilts, trying another breakoff play but instead passing it to Laser. He completes a beautiful slapshot. 3-0. The horn sounds. My assist.

Berkowitz, of course, is already there to get in my face in the center for the faceoff.

“Can’t do your own dirty work, gotta send the boys to do it for you?”

I squint at him and his visor. “Sorry, what’s that? Roll down your window, I can’t hear you.”

Puck drop. Back to Laser again. Berkowitz is practically seething. I can see it in his face as I skate by him. If I distract him long enough, Laser can weave his way through and score.

“Hey, Berkowitz, does the captain know you’re out here?”

He hits me with a cross check so hard, he boards me again and gets in my face. I must whimper or groan, because it pleases him.

“What are you gonna do, go cry about it and paint your nails?”

“I won’t be crying, and I’ll be using your blood,” I hiss.

I vaguely hear the penalty getting called for him boarding me, but it’s too late. I’m in too deep. I’m gonna do it, and I can’t stop.

“Dammit, Tilly, don’t do it!” Laser calls.

“Asshole deserves it!” Kilts adds. “Full Tilt Tilly!”

He gives me a gross smile. “Yeah, Tilly, don’t do it. You don’t have the balls. Oh, wait, this is a men's’ league.”

“You know she’s our enforcer, right?” Goop says, but it’s too late. Berkowitz is taking off his gloves. I toss the lapping Kilts my stick without looking.

I hear AK’s “Goddammit, Tilly” from somewhere beyond before I go for the asshole’s center of gravity. We’re grappling on the ice before I can even hear the screaming of the ref. Someone physically picks me up—it's probably Dags—and drops me on my skates, pointed towards our box.

“Five for fighting, I know, I know,” I say to the ref. He knows me by now. I pick up my gloves and retrieve my stick and head over to the sin bin, but the rest of the team is already screaming, and I realize why.

“Hey, Berkowitz!” I yell out. “Thanks for getting me my Gordie Howe!”

One of their right forwards, Falenkova, I think, responds for him: “This is a fuckin' amateur league!”

“For your team, maybe!”

He just gets into their penalty box a column of seats away from me, which is really just a marked off part of the bench. I’m a minute into my time out when I hear another voice behind me.

“You just had to do it, didn’t you?”

I pull off my helmet and run a hand through my hair before I have the ability to glance over and look at him.

“You showed up. I had to show off a little. Couldn’t have you one up me.”

“Oh, you mean this?” He says. He’s grasping onto his arm braces—it probably took him the whole minute to get down to me, but I’m not upset about it— “Yeah, well, I had to surprise you with something, now didn’t I? Don’t have a lot to work with.”

I glare at him. “Mouse. You have plenty to work with.”

He automatically changes subjects, touching my chin lightly and pulling it further so he could see my right eye. “Kate. You’re gonna have a black eye. He hit you hard.”

“The benefits of getting a Gordie Howe.”

“Benefits?”

“A debt must be paid to the man, God rest his soul,” I say, but he’s still got his hand on my chin.

“You’re gonna get in another fight, aren’t you?” He says, finally letting go.

I look back to the ice. I’m almost power hungry at this point. “If he comes at me, I’m comin’ at him. It’s fair, Mouse. All’s fair in love and hockey.”

“Not sure that’s how the saying goes. Hey, what chirps got your ass into the sin bin?”

I tick them off my fingers. ‘Roll down your window, I can’t hear you’, ‘does the captain know you’re out here’, when he asked me if I was gonna paint my nails later, I said, ‘I won’t be crying, and I’ll be using your blood,’ and my personal favorite, ‘I’m going to eat your soul for breakfast, and then ask your wife out for brunch’.”

He looks out to the ice, and then back to me. “You scare me. A lot.”

“That’s the way it should be.”

I help him stand up on the stairs—it’s a process—and he lays a hand on my shoulder. I put my hand over his until he pulls away and starts the trek back up to where they were sitting.

I’m back into the game with renewed confidence for a while. It’s not until there’s eight minutes left in the last period that Berkowitz gets back on the ice with me.

“Here we go,” AK mutters as he sees the showdown begin. Raz, on the other hand, takes it in stride and starts singing _The Good, The Bad, and the Ugly _theme at the top of his lungs.

The first play is fine. I get the puck away from their guys and make sure it gets to AK, but I still feel like that asshole is hovering on me. I pissed him off once, so it seems like he’s got to prove himself by beating a girl into a pulp.

“You play like a pack of dogs!” One of the other players—Ables?—tries to chirp. But Raz is on the rink, the nut job, so he takes it as a compliment and starts barking like a rabid dog.

“You need to get your bitch on a leash,” Berkowitz calls to AK.

“She’s the head bitch in charge,” He responds, passing over to Dags. We keep pushing forward, and Dags makes a beautiful goal. 4-0.

“Seriously? You’re gonna keep lettin’ these goals slip through your fingers?” I say, shifting back to the faceoff dot.

“You know, I never pegged you for one to date a cripple,” he says, and I straighten.

“The fuck you just say to me?” My anger boils so quickly, my eyesight goes fuzzy.

He knows he’s got me. The ref groans.

“Just how many dudes have you fucked that you have to stoop that low?”

I hear a ‘dude, what the fuck’ from one of his teammates. I snatch the puck so fast, Berkowitz can’t see where I’m going, and I’m too pissed to let this one go.

But he’s coming for me, and I know at his rate of speed, it’s not going to be a good one. I realize suddenly it’s going to be another suicide run, as I slap shot it towards AK or Dags or whoever was in my line of fire. I take the hit. It’s a double: first, the impact of his body slamming into mine, and the second from my body slamming into the boards. Shooting pain cascades down my arm. I ignore it, pulling off my gloves and throwing the hardest right hook I can throw. As we keep going, I realize the ref is letting the fight go.

I slam my left hook hard into his head and he finally goes down to the ice. I grapple with him, trying to avoid his ice skates, but I manage to get on top of him, pinned, straddled, and I push his shoulders into the ice.

The ice rink is silent. The rest of the players on the bench didn’t hear the shit he was slinging, but the ones on the ice did. No one else is fighting for once, even though I see Chicks holding back Kilts from joining me.

“Listen up, Berkowitz,” I hiss. “This is the last time you fucking disrespect me. That man up there? He was an Army Ranger, protecting assholes like you. He’s just back from a tour that nearly killed him, and oh look, he’s walking again. That’s more than I could say for you. Listen to me, you fucker!” I say, slamming him once more against the ice. He shuts his mouth. “You disrespect me again, I’ll fucking end you. I spent eight years in the Sandbox too, and I’m done dealing with assholes like you. You can either realize that I’m ‘good enough’ to be on this team for a reason, or we can take it out back and I can show you some of the things I've learned. Understood?”

“Understood,” he says, spitting blood onto the ice. I get off of him, pick up my stick and my gloves, and skate over to our side. My face hurts, but I don’t know if I really can feel the pain now that I’ve been pushed around so much. My shoulder feels like it’s on fire, but there’s not much I can do right now.

But we win. 4-0. Never let a shot through.

I breathe through my teeth as we go through the rigmarole of slapping the other team’s hands, but honestly, it’s so tense that no one speaks. When we get back to our locker room, Howie is the first one to ask what happened, so I address the team.

“Sorry about what I did out there today. Really. I’m... I could normally deal with it, but some of you heard what that asshole said, and...”

“Dude, Tilly, we didn’t know you were a Vet,” Howie says. Most of the guys kind of nod.

“I literally use my molle. My tactical backpack. For my shit.”

“I always thought you just liked the surplus shit,” Dags offers up.

“It has my name on it!” I cry.

A couple of them shrug noncommittally.

“Well, it’s not something I usually offer up.”

“And your friend?” Dags asks casually.

I try to unlace my skate but everything hurts. “That... that’s my friend Mouse. Well, that’s his nickname. He... he just got back, like I said, from a tour with the Army Rangers. He got stuck in a convoy attack that nearly killed him, but... well, here he is. He’s finally walking again. I didn’t think it would ever happen, and I find out he’s mobile today. Here, at the game. When Berkowitz came at me about it, I saw red. I’m sorry, guys.”

“You realize the ref didn’t call you on that last one?” Raz says. “He heard it. Don’t worry, we’ve got your back.”

“Still wish you would’ve told us you were a Vet,” AK mumbles.

“There’s a lot about me you don’t know,” I laugh, running a hand through my disgusting, sweaty hair. “I’ll catch you guys next time.” They’re off to Hawkeye’s like usual, but I’m not really in the mood. Most of them filter out and I’m still here, in my jersey and skates, trying to reestablish exactly who I am.

“Jesus, Kate, you okay?”

Will and Jay lead the group, while Natalie and Mouse hang back, hovering in the doorway.

“I’m fantastic,” I say, wiping my mouth. I wipe away a little blood. “I hurt like hell, but damn, was that a good game. Thanks for comin’, guys. Seriously. I’m glad you could all come.”

“It was violent,” Natalie offers up. She gets a distant look. “Really... really violent.”

“I take full responsibility,” I say, holding my arm tight to my chest.

Will kneels down in front of me. “Why aren’t your skates off?”

I breathe through my teeth. God, I’m in pain. “Ruminating in my victory. I didn’t get a hat trick, but I did get a Gordie Howe—”

“Unlace your skates,” he orders, pointing at my feet.

I groan. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“My shoulder feels like it’s on fire.”

Jay rolls his eyes and proceeds to help me struggle to get my jersey and pads off. Will automatically decides what’s wrong.

“That last hit dislocated your shoulder,” Will says. Jay just starts taking my skates off, as to protect his brother from the blades. “Nat?”

She comes around from behind and lays a gentle hand on my arm. “Have you had a dislocated shoulder before?”

“This is literally, like, the fifteenth time,” I grumble. “I know what you’ve got to do, just do it.”

She moves my arm out, then up, then back to where it needs to be. The pressure releases immediately.

“Ice and bandages around the corner,” I say, and Jay’s already moving. Mouse finally decides that it’s time to sit down and sidles up to the bench.

“What the hell did he say to you?” He asks, helping me at least get my button down back on.

“Doesn’t matter,” I say, letting Will and Natalie wrap my shoulder to my body. They slip the ice pack inside. He mutters something about going to Med, but I wave him off.

“It really does matter,” Mouse says. “You went apeshit.”

“It’s fine. It’s fine, okay? Let me finish here and I’ll meet you guys outside.”

“We were gonna head to Molly’s, if you want to come with us,” Natalie says.

“I look like shit...”

“No, you don’t,” Mouse immediately says, faster than anyone else can respond. He’s already managed to pack all my pads and shit away into my backpack, and Jay shoulders it. Will takes my hockey stick.

It seems I really don’t have a choice, as we meander outside. Jay drives us to Molly’s, even though I didn’t get a shower and feel like I’ve been hit by a car.

“You’re literally bleeding,” Natalie says, struggling to look at my face in the back seat. “You should get some ice for your eye.”

“Herrmann’ll get you some,” Jay says as I try to fix my hair.

“Mouse, give me your hat,” I say, and he automatically hands it to me, fluffing his own hair in the process. I hide my disgusting sweaty hair under his Hawks hat, turned backwards, like it’s meant to be worn. There. It’s a little better, but I’m still showing up to a bar in a black sweaty tank top, plaid shirt and cropped leggings with war wounds.

Herrmann calls out to us unintelligibly in his drawl of a Chicago accent as we find a table, and he cringes as he looks at me.

“KC, what the hell happened to you?”

“Hockey,” the other three say in unison.

“You got some ice?” I ask, and Stella is already on the move. I slip into the chair, nearly collapsing into the wood. I pull the now warm ice pack from my bandaged shoulder and toss it on the table as Stella is bringing us a round of beers.

“The usuals for all of you, and a stack of ice packs for the goon.”

“Enforcer,” I correct. “I prefer enforcer.”

“Regardless of what you’re called, you’re gonna hurt in the morning,” Stella says before sidling back behind the bar.

“She’s right,” Will says, pushing the ice packs closer to me. I slip one back near my shoulder and hold one up to my eye. “What the hell even happened?”

“None of you are gonna like it,” I mutter, leaning on my elbow and drinking in about a third of my beer. I see Greg straighten next to me.

“Just say it,” he finally says.

“Berkowitz chirped at me,” I explain. “Told me he never pegged me to date a cripple.”

“What the fuck is wrong with him?” Jay immediately says.

“Then he called me a slut, essentially, so I kicked his ass.”

“They had to carry him off the ice rink,” Natalie says. “You did more than kick his ass.”

I glance to Mouse, and he doesn’t say a word. He just takes a long drink of his beer, a smirk on his face.


	11. Here I stand like a soldier home from war

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kate tries as hard as she can to get Greg to stay with a job at UIC. Still, she's not sure it's enough.

**July 20, 2018**   
**0713 Hours**   
**1111 W 14th Place #122, Little Italy, Chicago**

My head pounds. I try to wake up, but even trying makes my head throb even worse. He pistol whipped me. That’s what happened. That’s how I got in this fucking place. Where am I? Where even is here—a… a church. An abandoned church. The rain falls loud on the roof. In the holes, it leaks onto the floor.

A familiar place, full of color and disarray. I’ve been here before. I’ve been here?

He took me. You’ve been kidnapped, KC. Okay, breathe. Breathe. You’re tied into this chair. You can’t move. You don’t know where he is. Okay. Okay—

Find a defining feature. Find something. Find—find anything. What’s on the walls? Maybe—

Hanging from my wrists from some scaffolding. I’m so tired. My arms already hurt.

The air gets knocked out of me. I can’t breathe for a second. My entire ribcage shifts, my entire body moves to the other side and I feel like something breaks and shatters.

Palm of his hand, slow drive into my ribs. I start running. I find the door, I start running. I can get out of this. I can escape. I can—

The gun goes off. I see the soldier. I see the women. I see the broken-down house. I see the explosions, I see the sand, I taste the sand, I feel the pain and the blood and—

I smell smoke, and I don’t know if it’s from my memory or from reality. I feel the noose. The signs begin. Spots seem to dance over my eyes. The fire… it spreads.

I realize I’m not breathing at all. My heart beats. I can feel it in my chest, but it’s slow. I’m dying. I’m actually dying. Fire. I’ve seen fire and darkness and smoke. And that’s what I see right now. Sweat, heat. The fire closes in. Smoke floods the room. I can’t wake up. I don’t know how. I can’t breathe, but I’m screaming. I’m screaming, I’m screaming myself hoarse and I can’t stop—

“Kate. Kate, listen to me, you’re fine. You’re here. Kate? Can you hear me?”

I’m awake. I’m panting, I’m shaking, I’m hoarse, I’m sweating. Mouse looks onward, tiredly, but he’s there.

“What was it this time?”

“Boniface,” I whisper. “I’m fine. I just need a minute. I just…”

He gets up. He’s still using those arm braces, but he’s steady. He’s steadier than he has been. I’m the one that’s shaky. He tries to beckon me out of the room, and I follow into the kitchen, slipping up onto one of my bar stools.

“Do you want to talk about it, or do you want a distraction?” He asks. I look up, and I notice what he’s doing—he’s making me a cup of tea.

“I don’t even know,” I say, trying to clear my throat. “Sorry I woke you up.”

“I was already awake,” he says, although we both know that’s the one lie we tell each other to make us feel better. It’s a toss-up, really. Could be one, could be the other, could be both.

“I’m doing my best to shake it, but I can’t,” I whisper. He pushes the cup of tea towards me. I have to smile at the mug he chose: he must have stolen it from the precinct. I close my hand over the Chicago Police seal. “It’s just gotten better, then worse.”

He straightens a little, and I see a bit of his façade fall. “Well, I’m working on finding a job. And then I’ll be out of your hair. I’m going to get my own place.”

“Oh. Oh,” I say, still trying to push away the nightmare. I didn’t expect this so soon. I figured he would eventually, but I wasn’t prepared for it. “You don’t… you don’t have to…”

“No, I should,” he says, but I feel like there’s something else lurking in his mind.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“No, I just…” He sighs. He’s stood this entire time, I realize. He’s getting better. He’s getting stronger, and his face is filling back out. He really is improving. Maybe he doesn’t need me anymore.

“Just what?”

“I saw you found the letter.”

“What letter?” I rack my brain until I realize what he’s talking about. The envelope, addressed to me. It’s been almost two months. “Oh. That letter.”

He looks dejected, so I’m not even sure how to react. “I’ll, uh, keep you posted on the search.”

“Mouse, I feel like I have whiplash right now,” I say, the sleep finally slipping from my voice. “I never read the letter.”

“You didn’t read it? But it was opened…” he drifts. The light is back in his eyes again.

“I never read it,” I whisper. “I thought about it, I almost did, but then I decided not to.”

“Why?”

“I knew what it was,” I explain. “It was your goodbye letter. The one I would find once you were… you were gone. I just didn’t want to know when you wrote it.” I was terrified to know. Whether it was when he was overseas, or… or when he made it home.

“I wrote it six months after I left,” he says, sitting down on the stool beside me. He holds a cup of coffee in his hands, not drinking it quite yet. “I was still overseas.”

I let out a pent-up breath. We all have a letter like that. I just wanted it desperately to not be a suicide note. Instead, he pulls it out of his pants pocket and sets it on the counter between us.

“I thought you read it, and… and didn’t say anything because you didn’t… you couldn’t…” he sighs through the stuttering. “I thought you didn’t... I thought you didn’t want me here.”

I trace my fingers over the envelope. My name is scrawled, double underlined, like the Post-It note.

“Don’t leave,” I whisper. “Not yet.”

“I’m still going to need a job,” he chuckles nervously.

I’m still looking at the letter. Before I realize what I’m doing, I’m pulling a lighter out of the utility drawer and setting fire to the envelope and the letter inside, holding it over my sink until I can’t anymore. It disintegrates until it becomes ash. I rub my face, heading for my bathroom, to try to start the day.

I don't think he can speak, not until I'm walking away. “Why—”

“You don’t need it anymore.”

* * *

**August 3, 2018**   
**1513 Hours**   
**University of Illinois – Chicago Campus**

It’s a long shot, I know, but I’m getting used to taking long shots. Besides, I’m already in my dress uniform for the flag raising ceremony today, and I figure it would make a good impression on the Lieutenant Colonel.

Sure, Lt. Col. Matthew Frazzini already knows me, and he’s seen me in my street clothes, but I can use all the help I can get.

I head into the ROTC and military science building. I don’t see why he wouldn’t be there still, and honestly, I’m not letting this opportunity go.

He made an exception for me. Maybe there was room for another one.

His secretary greets me with a smile and a nod towards his door.

“Captain Cavanagh. You can head inside.”

I knock on his door anyway, and I hear his low voice from the other side. I enter like he instructs me, and I know I don’t need to, but I fall into parade rest in front of his desk.

“You’re not active duty anymore, Cavanagh.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t give you the respect you deserve, sir.”

“Take a seat,” He says. He’s still in his dress uniform, too. He’s got a lot more ribbons and medals on his, though. It’s a little daunting, but I do as he says. “You wanted to discuss something with me that was time sensitive.”

“It’s about the open position you have. The associate professor of military science and ROTC instructor. I would like you to highly consider a... a colleague of mine. Why I’m coming to you now is because he is not currently in active duty.”

“Cavanagh, I don’t know if I can pull any more strings,” he says, leaning back into his chair. “I pulled enough for you. I’m not sure there’s any left to pull.”

“Sir, this individual served as an Army Ranger for several tours and was wounded in action. After he returned home for several years, he re-enlisted, was overseas for nearly 18 months before receiving another medical discharge. While he’s unfit for combat, I believe by the time the semester starts, he can be in full capacity to help train our ROTC cadets.”

He raises his eyebrow at me. I can see the wheels spinning, so I keep pushing.

“I believe our cadets would greatly benefit from his expertise. Not only does he have extensive modern warfare knowledge, but his specialty is communications and technology. He’s a modern soldier if I’ve ever known one.”

“What’s his name?”

“He would be in your system as Specialist Greg Gerwitz.”

“I’ll schedule an appointment with him,” he says. “But don’t get your hopes up, Cavanagh.”

“No, sir. Not at all, sir.”

He just smirks, and I feel my heart beating tight in my chest as I leave his office and the building.

I check my phone and see a missed call from Mouse. A couple texts come through.

_Hey, sorry if this is creepy, but I checked your location. I’m around campus? You busy?_

I can’t hide my smile. I quickly text him back. _I’m not sure whether to be offended or flattered. I guess with my track record I would want you to be tracking me._

_“_Shit, Kate. Woah. Didn’t... didn’t know you had something goin’ on today.”

It’s nice to see him like this. He’s slow moving, still, but the arm braces have been ditched and he’s on to a cane. My cane, I recall, from when I was relearning how to use my knee after what happened. Seems we just keep passing it around. He gives me a hug, and I feel him linger just a little longer than what he probably should. I don’t let him go until he’s ready.

“Just a small event. It’s fine. I wanted to talk to you anyway. I have a proposition for you.”

I go to say something, but the door to the building opens again and it’s the lieutenant colonel.

“Cavanagh. Thought you were headed out.”

I glance to Mouse. He straights immediately when he sees the amount of metal on the man’s chest. I’m happy he looks presentable. The lieutenant colonel just gives Greg a once over. “You must be Gerwitz,” he says, holding out his hand for him to shake. “Frazzini.”

“Nice to meet you, sir,” he says, but I can read in his face he’s confused as fuck.

“Your friend here was just singing your praises,” he goes on, and I try not to cringe. I hadn’t talked to him yet. “I would like to set up a meeting with you to discuss the possibility of you joining our faculty.”

He bites his lip for just a moment and then gives him a smile. “Absolutely. I’m sure we can organize something through... through Cavanagh.”

“I will be in touch,” he says. “Nice to meet you.”

“Same to you, sir.”

Once he’s out of earshot, I cringe, waiting for the chaos to rain down on me.

“The hell is going on?” He squeaks. “What possibility of joining the faculty?”

“I was going to talk to you about it now,” I say. “I promise. Seriously. Okay, so I do some teaching with the military science department. I teach military history classes and sometimes I do some ROTC instruction.”

“I still don’t know where I come in.”

“There’s a position open,” I explain. “They bent the rules for me. I’m hoping he’ll do it again.”

“Wait, what?” He can’t pace much, but he does manage to run a hand through his hair. The motion causes it to stick up at the front. “Kate, I can’t teach—”

“Yes, you can. Yes. You left... you left because people listened to you overseas. Well, people would listen to you here. You would be teaching them how to be soldiers. You’ve told me how many times... you only know how to be a soldier. You can do that and stay here in Chicago.”

He scoffs. “You really thought this out, didn’t you?”

The blood drains from my face. “I should have said something to you, but I was afraid you wouldn’t want it.”

“No, Kate. No—that's not what I mean. I mean...” He exhales heavily, like he’s trying to figure out the entire situation. “The fact that you... I just... you thought that deeply about why I left, and you’re trying to make it so it doesn’t happen again.”

“I can’t have you leave. Not again.”

He peers at me, silent, like he can’t come up with a good thing to say. I can’t read him for once. It’s somewhere between confused, dazed, concerned, and something else.

“You really think I can train these kids?” He whispers. He lets go my suddenly emotional statement.

“I really think you can train these kids, and I think you can do it exceptionally well.”

“This is a full-time position?”

“Full time, teaching during semesters, possible nights and weekends with ROTC, but it’s variable. Most of the time, honestly, we would be together.”

He stops, his face changing from confused to one of pleasant shock. “You and I? We would teach together?”

“There would be times, yeah, when we run drills or tag team something.”

He seems to war with himself for a moment. “Okay. Okay, I’ll meet with him.”

“Really?!”

“Yes, really. Let’s do this.”

* * *

**August 23, 2018**   
**1056 Hours**   
**University of Illinois – Chicago Campus**

I try to focus on getting my syllabi finished for my classes, but honestly, I can’t keep track of what I’m doing.

Mouse has his final interview for the job today. There were a few other candidates, I know that, but I’m still concerned. I don’t know if he’ll get the job. I hope he will, I pray he will. Maybe Al, the patron saint of UIC jobs, would look over us on this one.

I don’t know if Mouse is ready. I don’t know when he would be ready, but it’s time. He’s almost back up completely on his feet, and if he sticks around at my apartment all the time, his brain is going to eat itself and he’s just going to fall back into that negative line of thinking.

I hope what I did will work. I hope suggesting this to him, fighting for him, will give him the push he needs to stay in Chicago, to stay happy.

I’m dwelling, and it’s going to do me no good. But it’s been almost two hours, and I’m starting to get terrified.

I decide to get some air, and head out to the Quad. It’s still empty, as classes haven’t started yet, so I find a prime perch on one of the benches under the shade trees.

A lot has changed in the last few months. We shook him to his senses, I gave him a place to sleep, I forced him to go to therapy and now he’s almost back to normal.

To a semblance of normal, I remind myself. He’ll never be the same person he was. But that’s okay. He can be better.

“Excuse me, ma’am?”

I glance up to the sound of Mouse’s voice. I didn’t see him leave this morning, so I can’t hold back my gasp. He’s in his dress uniform, giving me the slightest of smirks as he leans on his cane. I scramble to my feet.

“So? Did you find out? When do you find out? I mean, it’s gotta be soon, right? School starts in like, three days. They’re cutting this pretty close. Mouse, did you—”

He holds up his hand. “Can I get a word in edgewise? Kate. I got the job.”

The blood rushes from my face. “Seriously? Seriously. You’re fucking with me. Are you serious?”

He nods, suddenly unable to speak. I pull him into a tight hug, and it takes him a second to hug me back, but he does. “I knew you could do it. I knew this would work out.” I send up a thank you, looking up to the blue, cloudless sky.

“I’m gonna have an office, and I’m gonna have to come up with lesson plans, and I don’t know if I’m ready for this kind of commitment, but I’m going to have to be, you know?”

“I’ll help you,” I say, letting go of him just enough to look him in the eye. “I’ll help you get on your feet, and then you’re just going to have to take it and run.”

“You’ve done enough to help me.”

“I could say the same to you.”

“Our codependency is probably unhealthy, you know.”

I shake my head. “You’re mistaking codependency and dependency.”

“Aren’t they the same word?”

“C’mon, Mouse.”

He laughs. It’s enough to make me smile. He’s been doing it a lot more lately. I’m happy for it.

“Let’s get back to the apartment and then you can change, and we can go shopping.”

“What do we need to go shopping for?”

“You’re going to need supplies, Mouse. Office supplies.”

“Are you going to make me get highlighters and color coded Post-Its? God, I’m going to have to write syllabi, and—and come up with lesson plans, and we have ROTC orientation this weekend…”

I grab his face and make him look at me. At first, he's a little shocked, but he seemingly melts.

“Stop panicking. We can do this.”

“We?” He chuckles.

“Yes. We.”

* * *

**September 7, 2018**   
**1832 Hours**   
**Molly's Pub, Chicago**

"I'm surprised you're not with him right now," Sylvie gently accuses. She's right, but after the inherent closeness that came out of the last couple of weeks, I needed to get out of the apartment. I'm just happy Sylvie was off this weekend, so we can have a proper girl's night. 

"He's Skyping with his unit right now," I explain. "I forced him to, honestly. Ortiz... his sergeant. He contacted me, and they're all having it out."

"Is this a good thing, or a bad thing?"

"I'm not sure. I don't know if it'll put him in a better headspace or not, but I'm willing to let it happen," I say, looking out over the bar. It's still fairly early—she knows I have ROTC in the morning—but it doesn't matter. I need her caring heart and ear. 

"What's wrong?"

"What do you mean?"

"There's something else," she says. 

"I don't know, Sylvie. I don't know. I just... he mentioned getting his own apartment last week, and I don't want him to go. He was so eager to leave, but..."

"You've gotten used to having him around again."

"I hate myself for it, but yeah. After everything he and I have been through together... after everything he did, I just don't know. I don't know if I can let him back in."

"Why do you keep thinking you have to let him in?" She says. "The way I see it, Kate, he was already there. You never let him out."

"I hate this zen bullshit," I say over the neck of my beer bottle.

"You just hate the fact that I'm right."

* * *

**September 8, 2018**   
**0701 Hours**   
**University of Illinois – Chicago Campus**

The wind gusts start up the moment Greg calls for the freshman and seniors to fall in. Honestly, it’s the first time I’ve experienced Greg’s demeanor during drills. It’s the first time we’re running things together, and I’m excited to see him.

He hadn’t been cleared yet, so I wanted him to take it easy, but it was nice to see him without a cane.

They all look terrified. I’m okay with it. I feed off their terror.

“You will run the course until I think you’re done. Is that clear?”

“Sir, yes, sir!”

He turns around and catches my eye. The smirk on his face is enough to make me smile too. He’s gotten just cocky enough that he gives me a wink.

I shiver.

We can’t afford a massive obstacle course, so we’ve set up a portable one in the grass of one of the school’s parks. Mouse goes through and explains what each cadet is supposed to do.

“First is the belly buster,” he says. The innocuous looking log is about six feet off the ground. “You get over it, any means necessary. Next, belly crawl. Under the barbed wire, cadets. Onto the low belly over.” This one looks like a set of crude gymnast bars. “You climb up onto the low log, grab onto the top log, and hoist yourself over. Next. Swing, stop, and jump. Run up to it, grab the rope, and swing to the wall on the other side. Once you’re there, let go of the rope and jump to the ground.” This one’s fairly straight forward, but the rig is about fifteen feet high. Never could get used to that one. “And last but not least, the Wall.” The infamous wall, about twice my height. “Running start, deadlift to the top, and jump down on the other side. Got it?”

They all look at us blankly. I think it’s too early in the morning for them, but they’re gonna have to get used to it. I’m tired too. Greg is the only one that looks perky. I don’t know how.

“Got it?” He repeats, but the tiny children don’t know how to respond. I think it’s my responsibility to shame him.

I clear my throat. “I think I would like to see Specialist Gerwitz do the run. You know, for demonstration purposes.”

There’s a palpable hum of a challenge that simmers through the group. When he turns to me, he raises an eyebrow and I know it’s coming.

“As my guest, Captain Cavanagh, I think it’s only right for you to demonstrate the obstacle course.”

We share a brief moment of a stare down. I see the flicker of fire in his eyes, but he tries his hardest not to break. Not in front of the children.

He’s forced my hand. He’s got to know it’s coming. So I close the distance between us and look at him almost nose to nose. I swear to God, I don’t know how he went through training, he’s about to laugh.

“It’s a sturdy course. Why not make it a challenge?”

He gives me his ‘excuse me’ eyebrow raise, but I know he can’t turn it down. Again, not in front of the children.

“You know I completed the Nasty Nick in a snowstorm, right?”

“Specialist Gerwitz is reminding me that he was an active duty Army Ranger in an attempt to make me back down.”

“Aw, you outed me,” he whispers.

“They didn’t know you were a Ranger?” I whisper. He shakes his head. “Sorry.”

“I was just gonna use it to scare them anyway,” he says. “Good enough time as any. How do they look?”

I peer over his shoulder. A few have broken rank a little to glance at each other. “Shakin’ in their boots. Greg, you really think you should be doing this?”

“I’m fine. I feel great, Kate,” he says. I actually think he means it, so I’m going to let it slide. “At ease,” he calls out, and they shake out their limbs. “Loser buys drinks tonight,” he whispers.

“I agree to your terms, Gerwitz.”

We shake and head to the start of the course.

“Mazur, I trust you,” I say, “You count us down.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, almost gleefully as I crouch down, ready to run. “I’m going to destroy you,” I whisper.

“What the hell, Kate? This ain’t a hockey game!” He whispers back.

“I said what I said,” I say, nodding to Nik.

“Three—”

“Hey, Greg?”

“Stop distracting me.”

“Two—”

“I found that corset in my closet the other day—”

“What?!”

“One—”

I’ve distracted him enough that I get a half a second head start. I hit the belly buster and very nearly somersault over it; he’s not far behind as I skid to my stomach and crawl under the barbed wire. Still got a head start, but he’s gaining on me—

“Hey!”

He pulls on my leg and uses my momentum to get himself out from under the barbed wire, passing me. I get up out of the dirt and try to close the distance between me and the traitor.

He’s already almost up and over the low belly over’s top bar when I make it. I launch myself up, get over the bar, and it slides under my grip—

“You good, Kate?!”

The wind was almost knocked out of me, but I nod and realize he stopped; he goes back and pulls me up before heading back on course, this time, slowing down a little. He runs, grabs onto the rope, and swings forward until he’s got his footing on the wall. I catch up, jumping down from the wall a little before he does.

We’re head to head, and it’s about a fifty-yard dash to get to the Wall.

“We were never really gonna fight about this, were we?” He says, as we fall into a jogging pace together.

“Maybe a little,” I say, speeding up so I can get enough height on my jump on the Wall. I deadlift myself up—with a little more trouble than I should have, to be honest—and join Greg on the other side. We both turn to each other, chests heaving. Too close.

“You did really well.”

“We’re gonna have to say one of us won,” He says, letting me go and fixing my hat.

“They already love me,” I joke. “You take the win.”

He steps out from behind the Wall, jogging back up to the class. I follow after. I never knew I would be that happy after an obstacle course run. When I get back up with them, I hear Greg talking:

“Make sure you congratulate Captain Cavanagh on her win when I’ve decided you’ve done well enough today. Runs start now. Get in line.”

They fall into a panicked queue to start the course, and I make eye contact with Greg between the running kids. He just responds to me with a wink.


	12. I have never wanted more to be your man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg does the impossible and invites Kate to meet someone dear to him. Kate, on the other hand, trains Greg in something dear to her.

**September 23, 2018**   
**1056 Hours**   
**1111 W 14th Place #122, Little Italy, Chicago**

“I’ve gotta run some errands, so I’ll be back,” he says, ready to run out of the apartment at a speed I’m still not used to.

“Oh, hang on, I’ll come with,” I say, finding my wallet and keys, but he’s already trying to backtrack.

“I… there’s a few that’ll be long, I just.. I gotta—”

“What, you don’t want to tell me?”

“No, it’s just…” he opens his mouth, then shuts it, then opens it again but nothing comes out. “Maybe… maybe you should come with me.”

“Then what is it?”

“Well, uh—”

“You want me to come with you, but you don’t want to tell me what it is. Should I change?”

He looks over me. I still hadn’t changed out of my church clothes, but he just sort of smirks. “No. No, you look perfect.”

“Let me get my phone,” I say, and he starts to stutter in the hallway. “What?”

“You don’t want to know?”

“Are you doing something illegal?”

“What?! No! Why—”

“Then I don’t care. You’ll explain when we get there.”

* * *

We pull up to a place in East Garfield Park that I’m not familiar with. When he parks and we start towards the building on the corner, I finally read the sign: Heritage Woods, an Assisted Living Community.

“Okay, so when I was four, my mom just left. I don’t really talk about it, and I have no intention of trying to find her,” he says definitively.

I’ve got a little bit of whiplash as we walk in, but I have to see where it’s going. I mean, I know where it’s going to lead, and I’m getting a little nervous, but he continues, waving to one of the nurses at the front desk and just walking in.

“My dad and I moved in with his mom. He died when I was fifteen, so.”

“Jesus, Greg. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Not something I really think about often,” he says, holding a door to a long hallway open for me. “Honestly, it’s been so long ago…”

“So, your grandmother. That’s who we’re visiting?”

“Can’t slip anything by you,” he chuckles nervously, pointing to a door. “Kazimiera Gerwitz.”

“Anything I should know before we go in?”

“She’s going to grill you, she’s going to ask a lot of suggestive things, you’re going to have to tell her your life story. She’s very Polish and very old.”

“How old? And how Polish?”

“She left Poland in 1939, she was… twelve? I think.”

“Jesus Christ, Greg! She’s seen all of history! Why are you just telling me this?!”

“Because I wasn’t going to take just anyone to meet her,” he says with finality.

“Oh,” I say. “Oh. Oh okay. I…”

He knocks on the door in a particular rhythm. She says something foreign on the other side, and Greg opens the door. The woman on the other side isn’t what I expect: she looked definitively younger than I thought, positively normal, with the same striking blue eyes as Greg. She sits at her little apartment’s kitchen table, seemingly waiting for Greg.

He leans over and kisses her on the cheek, and she just beams before looking me over. She says something I don’t understand, and I realize suddenly Greg has a more than rudimentary knowledge of Polish. God, there’s some much I never knew about him. I’m thankful now I get to find out.

“Who is your friend?” She finally asks, and I step forward, not knowing exactly what to do.

“Kate, this is my grandma, Kazimiera Gerwitz. _Babciu,_ this is my… my friend, Kate Cavanagh.”

I make a move to shake her hand, but she takes over by pulling me into a tighter hug than I expect. I can’t help but chuckle as she finally lets me go.

“You finally brought me a girlfriend to talk to?” She says accusingly. As I pull up a chair, I can’t help but laugh.

“Oh, well, uh, not… not my girlfriend,” he tries to backtrack. “It… I mean—”

“It’s lovely to meet you, ma’am.”

“I’m starting to regret this,” he mutters.

“What?”

“I love you, and you know it,” he says louder but I can’t react for fear of making a bad impression. Instead he sees me trying not to bust, and it makes the nervous look slip from his face.

“I know he’s nervous,” she tries to whisper, but I think she’s lost the ability to keep her voice down. It’s fine. I smile at Greg, and he just starts to face palm. “He wouldn’t bring you here unless he thought you were worth it.”

“Well, ma’am—”

“Ma’am? Ma’am? Who is ma’am?” She jokes. “She sounds like you do, _Myszczka__.”_

I don’t recognize the word, but he laughs along with her before he answers. “She actually served in the Army for almost eight years.”

Her face shifts a little. “Did you serve together?”

“Oh, no, ma’am,” I answer. Greg wanders around the room. I realize he’s checking on her, flitting about like a caretaker who hadn’t been able to be a caretaker for a while. “We met when we both came back to Chicago.”

“He hasn’t visited in a very long time,” she says, her light accent slipping through. “He went back into the Army?”

“He did,” I confirm, nodding. Greg just peers at the two of us like he wants to get involved, but he’s got his responsibilities. I’m starting to find I don’t mind. “But he’s home now, and I think he’s going to stay. I hope he’s going to stay.”

“Your friend wants you to stay in Chicago,” she says loudly over her shoulder. “_Myszczka_…” She goes on in Polish once more, and he rolls his eyes and responds.

“He told me that you practically raised him,” I say, trying to change the subject. “How was that for you?”

“He was an angel,” she says. “A stubborn angel.”

I glare at him as he finally sits down, and he shrugs. “She’s my grandma, what do you think she’s going to tell you?”

* * *

After about an hour and a half with her, and him completely shirking past her questions about why he was back and who I really was to him (I assume) he says we should get moving and he would be back next week.

“And the week after that?”

He kisses her cheek. “Of course, _babciu_.”

“I agree with _moja wnuczka,_” she says. “I hope you’re going to stay this time.”

He rolls his eyes and pushes me towards the door. When he gets there, he seems to consider something for a moment.

“Hey, can you just wait for me for a sec?” He says. I just nod, and he slips back into the room. I can hear the conversation, but I can’t make much sense of it—I hear the names they call each other and the last thing she called me, but I wouldn’t be able to spell it to save my life. The conversation, though, moves very quickly, and he’s slipping back out of the door.

“You good?”

“More than good,” he says, grinning. “Thanks for coming today.”

“She’s amazing. I love her. I want to adopt her.”

“I think she’s writing you into her will right now. Cutting me straight out.”

* * *

**October 13, 2018**   
**1315 Hours**   
**Johnny’s Ice House East**

“Are you sure you’re good to try this now?”

He scoffs. “Dr. Rhodes is stalling. I’m healed, I’m back to normal. You gotta trust me.”

Mouse actually does look fairly steady on his skates. I had loaned him my practice jersey, number 9, Bobby Hull, and it made me just want to giggle with glee. He couldn’t see it, though. This was practically hazing.

“We’ve got two hours before the guys get here and make you try out. They’re gonna be brutal. I wanna make sure you’re ready.”

He throws his hands up in the air. “We’ve been at this for two weeks. I’m ready.”

“You’re still not the best on the ice, and you know it.”

“I’m gonna be a goaltender, do you think I’m gonna be moving out of the crease?!” He calls out.

I take a breath and look out over the rink. He’s got to know the emotional toll this place takes on me when we’re both here, but it’s getting better all the time. He’s getting better all the time.

“Remember what we talked about—”

“Don’t be super aggressive and lose my position, move fast but smart, don’t get bent out of shape if I can’t block it, be patient, pass it as long and fast when I can.”

“Oh. Alright. You were paying attention. Okay. We’re gonna run drills until they get here.”

He leaves the crease and approaches me on the center of the ice. “Listen. I’ve got this. You’ve made sure I’ve got this.”

I can’t help but grin. His skating technique has definitely gotten better.

“What are you laughing about?”

“I’m not laughing. It’s just… it’s good to see you on the ice instead of in the stands.”

“Alright, let’s do this.”

I start around the rink, juggling the puck as I go. “You know, we’ve been through a bunch of shit, but nothing gets me going like this league.”

“I know it does,” he says. “We’ve been through war, and chased death, Lord, I’ve been at gunpoint so many times—”

“But at least that’s a world away,” I say, starting on my approach. I’m trying to distract him while I go, and it seems to be working, so I shoot. He shifts his weight and automatically blocks it.

“Lucky shot,” I say.

“Not all of it was a world away,” he comments, and I pick up his pass halfway down the rink.

“What do you mean?”

“You remember that one time I was held hostage at the District.”

I stop so hard, ice goes flying and I almost trip over my feet. “What the fuck are you saying to me?”

He straightens. “I never told you about that?”

“No! What the fuck! Greg! I would have remembered this!”

“Oh, well, about three years ago, this guy came into the District looking for his missing daughter,” he says, leaning on his stick. “No one was helping him, so he uh, he pulled me in that little side office at gunpoint.”

“Jesus Christ, Greg!”

He shrugs. “All he wanted was to find his daughter.”

“Did you?”

“Of course we did.” That bravado starts sneaking in again.

“Did they arrest him?”

“Turns out the gun wasn’t loaded,” he says, leaning back down to face my shots.

“Something tells me that you had something to do with that.”

“I can neither confirm nor deny.”

I deke him and shoot, but he blocks me again. I just start laughing and I don't want to stop.


	13. And now I tremble because this fumble has become biblical

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After five months, Greg is cleared by Dr. Rhodes. He's healthy, he's healing, he's... better. And Kate makes a realization she hasn't been willing to admit until now.

**October 29, 2018**   
**1432 Hours**   
**University of Illinois – Chicago Campus**

The anxiety decided to wake me up and then stick around for the rest of the morning. It didn’t help that I had to do PT by myself this morning with the cadets. The last two and a half months, Mouse and I had done it together.

We had a glorious thing going. Going to work together, being on campus together, heading home together.

But we’re not together, I remind myself. We’re not together. Not anymore.

The change in him, though, was drastic. It feels wrong, sure, but I can count it back: in May, he was homeless, broken, in a wheelchair. Now, he’s running drills with cadets, a slight sense of sadistic joy.

He’s definitely getting better at teaching, too: I snuck into one of his classes, and it seems he was trying to take a page out of my book. They spent a class talking about his history. I know it wasn’t the easiest thing for him—I do it every year, and it’s not the easiest thing for me either—but it makes us human. All these kids want are a reason to learn, not hate what they’ve decided to do.

But as midterm exams have hit us like a ton of bricks, I proctor his Junior level Adaptive Team Leadership class. I don’t know how the hell he’s come up with a syllabus—I mean, other than what I’ve tried to do to help him—because he finally just went rogue. I really need to come to one of his classes that he’s actually teaching, I realize.

Right now, he’s at the hospital. He’s going through his final checks with Dr. Charles and Dr. Rhodes. I can’t believe it’s happening already, but I remind myself—he could have been back to full strength in three months, and they predicted six. It’s been five.

Five exactly, I think. Five months since we pulled him out of the gutter. Literally.

I clean up as the last student leaves his midterm and take the Blue Books with me. Check my phone—no texts, no calls. He should be done by now. He should have finished up a while ago.

I start across the quad, headed towards my office to prep for my evening class. I really hope everything’s okay. I don’t know if I could handle it if it wasn’t. I—

“Kate! Hey, Kate—”

I can’t help but smile at the sound of his voice. I turn, and he jogs up to me from the opposite end of the quad. It never gets old, and the tears well in my eyes.

“Please tell me things went well.”

“How did the midterm go?” He asks, but I know he’s being a shit. I smack him with the stack of exams.

“This is unimportant! How did things go for you?”

He clears his throat. “Clean bill. Dr. Rhodes said keep it up, but I’m back to normal.”

“Seriously?! Seriously. You’re fucking with me, right?” I look anywhere but him. I can’t. The tears are finally falling and I can’t make them stop.

“Hey, it’s fine, I’m fine!” He whispers, pulling me into a tight hug. I close my eyes, burying my face in his shoulder. He’s okay, I remind myself. He’s him again. He’s back and he lived through this.

I try to breathe through it as I pull away, and he wipes the tears from my face. His fingers linger on my cheek. “C’mon, haven’t you cried enough about me?”

“Shut up. Not funny.”

He shrugs, tracing my jaw with his hand. “I’m a work in progress.”

He’s dangerously close. He’s too close, I realize, and it’s too late. I don’t know who moved first. All I know is I’m kissing him, and he’s kissing me, and there’s no way we should be doing this right now, but I quickly pull away once I regain my senses.

“I… here are the exams,” I whisper, handing him the stack. “I’ve got to get back to my office.”

I leave him there in the awkwardness. I can’t do this. Not now. Not yet.

* * *

**October 31, 2018**   
**1743 Hours**   
**1111 W 14th Place #122, Little Italy, Chicago**

He finally makes it back to the apartment after his last class, but it feels exceptionally late. I mean, it’s not my job to police him, I know. He’s better now, and he’s got a job, and it’s all uphill from here.

I settle into the couch as I hear him arrive, drop off his stuff in his bedroom, and then come out into the living room.

The last few days have been too awkward for me, but I know I have to breathe through it. The kiss on the quad felt too visceral to me, too necessary, too… too familiar.

I don’t know how it felt for him, and I’m not going to ask. I’m going to pretend like it never even happened. If I do that, then we can keep moving forward instead of taking two-year sized steps backward.

“You made it back,” I finally say, tearing my eyes away from the NHL pregame show. “I have something for you. It’s not much, but…” I pull the bag from the floor, where I was stashing it. I hand it to him, and he just squints at me as he pulls the tissue paper from inside and throws it to the floor with a flourish.

“You’re gonna pick that up,” I say. He sidles over to the opposite end of the couch, pulling out the things I had gotten him: a red and white UIC baseball tee and a matching baseball cap.

“I didn’t have anything, you know,” he says with a smirk.

“I know. Didn’t think you could be a professor without them. Hey. Happy birthday.”

“I almost forgot,” he whispers, looking over the shirt.

“I thought we could order in something to eat, but you get to pick.”

“I have picked.”

“Oh?”

He turns off the television. I’m about to berate him, but I’m super confused.

“It’s Halloween. It’s my favorite holiday.”

“I didn’t know it was your favorite,” I say in slight realization. We never made it that far. Almost, but not quite.

“Molly’s is having a costume party.”

“Costume party? I don’t… I never… I haven’t worn a costume since college.”

He smiles like he’s been up to something. As he stands up and heads for his bedroom, the worry—this is a different kind of worry, I realize, a good kind—blossoms once again.

“I got us costumes,” he says. “I hope you like it. I mean, I might be hedging, but I know you, and just… okay, hear me out?”

“Show me the fucking costume.”

He approaches the doorway and holds it up. I look from him, to the outfit, and back again.

“Are you for real right now?” I say, looking over the military green fitted jacket and skirt combo. “Did you do what I think you did?”

He sheepishly holds up just a hint of a blue and white starry shield from behind my outfit. “Honestly, I can’t read you right now, and I don’t know if what I did was a good thing or a bad thing.”

I snatch the outfit and nearly trip over myself running to my bedroom. I can hear his echoing laughter as I slam the door.

It takes me about a half hour to prepare. I mean, he didn’t even tell me I would have to do my hair—he could have at least given me a warning. And I had to unbury my red lipstick.

About halfway through getting ready, I realize how giddy I am. I don’t know where it’s coming from, and I don’t know if I really want to know the source.

C’mon, KC. Does it really have to be that complicated?

Stop making it complicated.

Then why did he pick a couple’s costume?

Stop making it complicated, KC. Finish your lipstick, get dressed, and go have fun.

I can hear that he’s already done and pacing the hallway, so I discover that the jacket has pockets and slip the items I need inside, tighten the belt, and open the door.

“Holy shit,” he says, then nearly clasps his hand over his mouth. I just start laughing hysterically: he’s in the uniform from the first movie, with the brown leather jacket and the blue uniform and white star just peeking out underneath. The shield looks just as legit, and he holds up the blue helmet with the ‘A’ in white.

“Oh my God, Mouse. Oh my God. This is just. I can’t.”

“Are you okay?” He can’t stop laughing either, and at my wheezing, he just pushes me towards the door.

It’s going to be a fun night. We deserve this.

* * *

**October 31, 2018**   
**1906 Hours**   
**Molly’s Pub, Chicago**

By the time we make it to Molly’s, I’m so ready. I had texted Will, but he had to work; Jay, on the other hand, was stopping by.

Me: _I’m definitely in a costume, and it’s possibly the best thing to happen this year. Just wait til you see us._

Jay: _Us?_

Me: _Me and Mouse_

Jay: _Oh, so you’re doing couples costumes now?_

I don’t respond as we bail on our Uber and start towards the door. I know it’s going to be busy—it always is, and it’s even worse on holidays—but for some reason, I don’t care. I’m Peggy fucking Carter.

He opens the door and gestures for me to go first, and the first person I see is Ruzek, who looks positively normal, but loses his shit when we walk in. In fact, I see a lot of the intelligence division—Atwater, Antonio, Ruzek, that new girl, Hailey; even Burgess is lurking. I can hear Jay from wherever he is when we come in, too. In fact, they all cry out in some sort of unison for Mouse.

“Last time you were here, you were bailin’ on us!” Ruzek says, pulling him into a hug. I step back, letting him visit with his old unit.

“What the hell did you do?” I turn around and nearly run into Jay. He just hands me a beer and looks me over. “Peggy Carter and Captain America. Really? That was his idea. I can smell that from a mile away.”

I just drink the beer, watching as Atwater throws his arm around Mouse’s shoulders. “How could I say no? Look at him.”

“How’s he doing?”

“He didn’t tell you? He got cleared a couple of days ago.”

“So he’s done. He’s better.”

“He’s fine,” I say, chuckling a little. “He’s fine. Five months later, and he’s back on his feet, he’s working, he’s… he’s fine, Jay.”

“I’m glad we didn’t give up on him,” he says, the sound of his voice almost getting lost in the din of the bar.

“You know I never was going to,” I admit. Ruzek’s commandeered Mouse’s helmet now, and they’re buying him drinks. “I just needed some time first before I figured it out.”

“So what’s holding you back now?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

I think for a second he’s going to make some sort of joke, but he doesn’t. The humor leeches from his face, and I know this is one of his serious conversations.

“Kate, I know you want to be with him. He wants to be with you.”

“You know this for a fact?”

“I haven’t talk to him about it, no, but… look at you two. As hard as you tried to push him away, and as hard as he tried to make you leave him alone at his lowest, you’re here. In costume, together. Living together. Working together. I just don’t know how you don’t see it.”

“I do see it,” I whisper. “I see it. I… I just don’t know if I can do it again.”

“He can’t go back,” Jay says. “You both know it.”

“I know he can’t go back, but it doesn’t stop me from being afraid.”

“Isn’t that the fun of it?”

“What, being afraid?”

He leans against the bar. I finally look away from Mouse as he revels in his war stories. I know the truth.

“We kissed,” I admit. “Twice, actually. Once, when I visited him for the first time after he came back, and a couple of days ago, when he told me he was medically cleared.”

“So what is the damn hold up?”

“There’s a lot of baggage, Jay. A hell of a lot of baggage.”

“Are you using that as an excuse? Because it sounds like an excuse.”

“I don’t know what it is. I just know I shouldn’t do anything rash tonight, and it’s probably going to happen anyways.”

“You’re hedging,” Jay accuses.

I look at Mouse, laughing with the rest of the precinct, celebrating his win. He needed a win. He deserved this win, and he glances over to me. We make brief eye contact, and his smile just blossoms once again.

“I’m hoping.”

* * *

**November 1, 2018**   
**0014 Hours**   
**1111 W 14th Place #122, Little Italy, Chicago**

I stumble into the apartment, pulling off my shoes. Mouse brandishes the trophy.

“I cannot believe we won the costume contest,” he says breathlessly. “I honestly just went to the costume shop and rented these like, an hour before I got home.”

“It was a good call,” I say. Honestly, it was a fun night. Neither of us drank that much, although we were encouraged to, but we both knew we had to teach classes in the morning and a hangover while teaching cadets was never a good idea.

I stop in the hallway, pulling the bobby pins from my hair, as he sets the trophy on my counter top. He turns, looking back to me, and he wide smile falls a little.

“What are you thinking about?”

“That look? It’s really hot on you. Just sayin’,” he says. I lean against the hallway wall, and he sets his shield against the door frame of the second bedroom.

“What, 1940s pin up?”

“Peggy Carter is so much more than that, and you know it. Take it back.”

“She could get it,” I commiserate. “There are literally no bad parts about Peggy Carter.”

He just grins. There’s not much more he can say. A sudden wave of awkwardness slips down that hallway as neither of us leave it.

There’s too much baggage. The more I try to convince myself, the less I believe it. There’s too much baggage, Kate, and you shouldn’t give yourself more.

He makes the first move. He takes a step closer to me, touching his fingers to my chin as he pulls me in for a kiss. It’s the first real one we’ve had since... since the hospital, since the quad, since before he left, since I don’t know when. When he pulls away, I can’t help but gasp.

“Thank you,” he whispers, still clutching to me. I’m not ready to move away.

“Happy... happy birthday,” I manage, but he’s still so close to me our lips almost touch again when we speak. After what feels like forever, he finally lets go of me and slips into the second bedroom. I go into mine.

That one felt different. I felt the difference. I felt the part of him that might be back, but it’s too soon to tell.

I finish undoing my hair, ditch my pantyhose, and start taking my makeup off, but I can’t get it out of my head. My hand is on my door handle before I realize it, and I’m going out into the hallway.

No. No, I can’t. He just got the clear from Dr. Rhodes. I’m not ready for this. He’s not ready for this. I slip inside my room, but my hand stays on the handle.

Dammit. Dammit, KC. I step out of the room again. This time, I see him stepping out of his room, too. He starts to chuckle when we make eye contact.

“I just... I need... I...” He stutters, but I start laughing. I start laughing, and he looks at me for a moment like I’m insane, because I’m just laughing in the middle of the hallway for apparently no reason.

“Why did you come out of your room?” I ask, almost accusingly.

He flips through a handful of emotions in just a few seconds: first, terror; then confusion and some sort of an attempt to regain a little bravado, then his cheeks turn red as he stutters.

“What? No. I mean, sure I came out, I just—that kiss. That kiss, Kate. I was... I was looking for you!”

The whole little outburst actually does make me laugh. I don’t know if it’s because I feel sorry for him, or whether it’s taken me that much off my guard, but he doesn’t seem to look offended.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for laughing, but are you okay?”

“I’m the best I’ve felt in a long time,” he seems to admit.

There’s a pause. He’s only managed to get rid of his leather jacket, and Captain America t-shirt is enough to remind me that what we both went through was enough.

We collide in the hallway. He grasps my waist, pulling me into him, and I kiss him until we can’t breathe anymore.

“We’re gonna do this, aren’t we?” I ask in disbelief.

“Uh, I’m really hoping, because it’s all I’ve been thinking about.”

“I hate you so much right now,” I say, but I pull him back into me with so much force I hit the wall. He takes it in stride, pinning me against it, kissing me until I come to my senses and break away.

“Should we really do this?” I ask as he kisses my jaw, my neck. I shudder under his touch, his hand following after his mouth. “Mouse. C’mon. We... we shouldn’t do this.”

“We should,” he says, his hands pulling at the belt on my jacket. He pulls it off with some sort of reverence, then moves to my tie. He uses it as leverage, pulling me into another kiss.

“Listen,” I say finally breaking again. “Listen to me, we’re gonna regret this in the morning—”

“Then we regret it in the morning,” he says, loosening the tie until he can pull it off. I don’t stop him from unbuttoning my shirt, but the words come out of my mouth unbidden.

“Are you okay with this? Are you... are you okay to do this?”

“Oh my God, yes, Kate,” he groans, looking up to the ceiling. He’s breathing so hard, I think for a moment, until I realize I’m practically hyperventilating as well. “The question is, are you okay with this?”

“This is a one-time deal,” I say. He pulls my shirt tails out of my skirt. I can feel his fingertips on my bare skin and I nearly jump out of my skin.

“One-time deal,” he repeats, nearly kissing me once again. “Got it. Message received.”

“One-time deal, no strings, pause time and this doesn’t count, okay?”

He just awkwardly salutes me, and it makes me giggle. With that, I unhook my skirt, letting it fall to the floor. He watches me, just breaths away, like he’s waiting for me to unbutton my shirtsleeves and ditch it too. Once I do, he picks me up, pushing me still against the wall, like he’s trying to prove to me that he can do it.

He doesn’t have to prove anything to me. He never did. The thought itself jars me, as I wrap my legs around his waist and slip my fingers into his hair. He kisses my neck, my chest, until I hear myself let out the smallest noise. I can’t help it. I shouldn’t, my mind keeps saying, we shouldn’t, but we should. We should.

He pulls me from the wall and carries me down the hall. I’m shocked at first, clinging onto him, but it’s so easy for him. It’s too easy for him, and I remember how it was before. Years before. That was before, and this is after, and I can’t ignore the shit in between except for right now.

He lays me down on my bed, gently, dropping me just from far enough to bounce into the covers. When he joins me, I pull him on top of me, leaning up to kiss him. That’s all I want at the moment, and he gives it to me: I lean back into my pillows, his hand supporting my neck, and I close my eyes, kissing him until he leaves to kiss my jaw, my neck, my collarbone, my chest.

We shouldn’t be doing this, I remind myself. We shouldn’t. We shouldn’t—

“Stop it,” he murmurs. “You’re doing it again. Get out of your damn head.”

“I’m not—I mean—” He cuts me off, kissing me once more. He kisses me until I lose my train of thought, his hands running over my sides, to my back, to the clasp of my bra.

“You were saying?” He asks, slipping the straps off my shoulders and throwing it to the floor. He cups me in his hands, kneading me, until I can’t even think of words, and I watch him as he kisses the sensitive skin, runs his tongue over my nipple.

He grasps me in the small of my back, holding me close to him, making it so I couldn’t try to move away. Not like I would. We’re nearly to the point of no return. I might be already, as I reach up and pull his shirt off. I remember the scars from before. I know the scars from now. He pauses, just for a moment, like he’s waiting for me to react, but I don’t. I don’t care.

I slip my hands under my pillow, and he readjusts, slipping me to the edge of the bed. He kneels on the floor in front of me, and I’m already struggling to breathe regularly. He slips off my panties, slow and deliberate, his face in pure concentration. It’s like he put so much stock into this one moment that he had to put everything into it.

I start to laugh. I can’t help it, and it jars him into the moment.

“What? What did I do?”

“Why are our lives so fucked up? Why are you being so serious? I know you. You don’t have to try to impress me.”

“What if I want to?” He says sheepishly, kissing down my thigh. It’s enough at the moment to make me draw a sharp breath.

“I just want you to know you don’t have to.”

It doesn’t matter to him, it seems, and it doesn’t matter to me. He runs his tongue over me, and I’m lost. I wish it wasn’t so easy for him, but he knows me. He already knows me. It’s like we’re just picking back up where we left off.

It still makes me chuckle. It makes me chuckle and gasp, and then he laughs, his mouth still over me. It continues until he slips his fingers inside me, making me search for more breath, but he can speak.

“What the hell is so funny?”

“I don’t even know. I don’t even know,” I say, drawing my breath as slowly as he draws his fingers in and out of me. “I just… I miss this. I know… I know it sounds petty, or—or—”

He flicks his tongue over me again, and I very nearly shiver.

“—I don’t want this to sound trivial, or—or make it seem... I don't know, but I do. I miss this. I do—”

“Can you just stop waxing philosophical and enjoy it?” He says, but it’s not harsh. It’s humorous, it’s tired, it’s emotional, it’s all of the above. He goes back to work. I slip my hands into his hair, holding him there. It’s been so long, and we’ve both had enough to drink to make us make these decisions but not enough to think this was a good idea. Still, something in the back of my head told me this wasn’t really a mistake. This is what we deserved all along.

I figure he’ll tease me, then finish me off himself, but it doesn’t take long for me to realize he wasn’t going to stop. I feel my breath catch in my throat, and he hears it, and he just works harder.

“You’re so tense, stop it,” he mutters, breaking from his work on me just briefly. He pushes my knees apart, trying to get me to calm down. I just grasp the sheets. It doesn’t work.

I let the feeling build, though. He knows. He knows what sounds I make and what my body does, and it’s not long until I let go. I finally let go. I’m panting against the sheets before I can even remotely recover.

I’m exhausted, but he’s not done, and I’m not ready to call it quits. If this is our pause, our stop-time, our frolic in the sin bin, I’m going to take the entire time.

But he’s naked, and found a condom from my nightstand already, and I push him down into the sheets before he can say a word. He leans against my stack of pillows, looking up at me like I’m the world.

“Stop looking at me like that,” I say, taking him in my hand and guiding him inside me.

“Why?” He asks. He doesn’t stop. He just runs his hands from my hips to my shoulders, pulling me closer to him. I ride against him, gently. “Why not?”

“You’re giving this more meaning than it has,” I whisper. As I slowly move, he reaches up, taking my breast in his mouth. I let out a whimper instead of a cautious comment.

“What if I want it to have meaning?”

“Tonight’s not the night to have this conversation,” I say. “Just because we’re stopping time doesn’t mean we’re talking.”

My hands end up tight on his biceps, and he takes over, thrusting into me until I can’t speak anymore. I’m already close, and he knows it; he holds me close and I don’t have the energy to tell him no.

He holds my hair back from my face, running his lips over my neck until I pull his lips to mine.

He buries his face into my neck, sinking his fingers into the soft skin of my hips, shaking, gasping, until my body gives in, too. We’re left spent, holding tightly to each other. We’re both weak in each other’s arms.

I lean into him and kiss him. He kisses me back. It’s such a simple gesture, kissing him, but as he presses his body against mine, I don’t want it to end.

It’s an eleventh-hour realization, a blasphemous epiphany.


	14. A bloody curse word in a pedestrian verse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kate has to focus as they face the West Town Ruskies in the tournament finals, but is nearly distracted by the sea of green that arrives in support of her.

**November 3, 2018**   
**1909 Hours**   
**Johnny’s Ice House East**

AK paces inside the locker room like it’s the damn Stanley Cup. “Listen. I know we’ve made it this far on skill and luck and whatever else we’ve got running in our blood—”

“It’s because half of us are Irish,” Murf says. I fist bump him without looking.

“—some of us are Polish,” AK derails for a minute, getting uncharacteristically defensive. “Okay. Here’s the deal. We know these guys. We hate these guys,” he says, glaring at me for a moment. “We know what happened last time we played them, but it’s the finals. It’s our last game of the season. We can smoke these guys easy.”

“As long as Tilly doesn’t go apeshit again,” Chicks says from somewhere behind me. I flip him off without looking and I hear Kilts chuckling.

“I like when she fights,” he adds. “Loosens things up. Distracts people. You know. She’s a novelty at this point.”

AK face palms. He knows we’re a bunch of children. It’s not our fault he moonlights as a youth hockey coach. It’s practically the same thing.

“Listen. You know what to do. We’ve been doing it for months. Just don’t fuck it up, okay?”

It’s enough of a hurrah for us. We gather up our shit and start for the rink, but when I slip outside the locker room, I almost run into Mouse. He leans against the wall, arms crossed over a green t-shirt. It’s not one I’m familiar with. He’s got his typical Hawks hat on, though.

“What are you doin’ back here?” I ask, pulling my hair into a low ponytail. “What are you wearing?”

“Oh, you like?” He pulls his arms away from his chest, displaying the shirt. It’s the same as the team shirts we got a couple weeks ago—a copy of our jerseys: dark green, a Celtic knot in silver. He models it for me, then turns around.

“You have got to me kidding me.”

“I’m not kidding you,” he says, taking my gloves so I can strap on my helmet.

“What the fuck is that. It’s my name and number!” I can’t stop laughing. I start laughing and I can’t stop. Number 9, Cavanagh. “How did you get those?!”

“I talked to AK. He put in the order.” He’s smirking like he’s damn proud of himself again. Jesus. He’s so happy. It fills my heart.

“It’s kinda cute,” I say, shrugging.

I hear the West Town Ruskies leaving their locker room, but I don’t step away from Mouse. I shouldn’t have to. I don’t want to, after what happened the other day. We still haven’t addressed it, and quite frankly, I’m scared to.

But I hear someone laughing. I glance and see fucking Berkowitz.

“Nice to see you haven’t been kicked off the team yet, Berkowitz,” I call to him, looking back to Mouse.

“You’re gonna fight with him,” he whispers, sighing. “You’re gonna get yourself hurt again.”

“You know I’m gonna. I gotta. He’s gonna come at me, and I’ve got to protect myself, Mouse.”

“Part of me wants to change your mind, and the other wants you to obliterate that asshole.”

I laugh a little, then call down the hallway: “Hey, Berkowitz, how long you been in the league?”

He squints at me. “Four years.”

“That’s a lot of time to do nothing!”

“I see your friend is on his feet again,” he calls.

“Kate, don’t—” Mouse starts.

“Yeah, which is more than I could say for you,” I chirp back. “By the time I’m done with you, you’re going to wish I just took your legs out.”

“I’m gonna snap your neck, Cavanagh,” he growls.

“That’s gonna be hard to do with those hands, man. Oh, hey, Berks!” I wiggle my fingertips at him. “Your wife took me out to get my nails done. The color is AB positive. Do you like it?”

He leaves with a grumble, so I know I have to make it to the rink.

“There’s something wrong with you,” he mutters.

“He made fun of my nails last time,” I say, admiring the dark red. “I had to.”

“Hey, be careful, okay?” He says, handing me back my gloves.

“I’m always careful.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

I salute him before slipping my gloves on and going out with the team to the rink.

“Are you already chirpin’ at Berkowitz?” AK accuses, pointing at the angry faced Pole on the other team.

“Maybe,” I say, trying to be cute about it, but it’s definitely not working. He’s already groaning.

“I hate when you do this.”

“I love when you do this!” Kilts interrupts.

“I know you do, babe,” I add, grinning at AK. I practically moonwalk around him, and I hear a whistle coming from the stands. When I look up, I see a group of them: Natalie, Will, Jay, and Greg all wear the matching shirts. I notice, though, more people gathering around them: Ruzek, Hailey, Maggie, Connor, Sylvie, Kelly, Herrmann, Otis. They’re all in various shades of green.

“What the fuck?!” I yell out to the group.

Will just stands up and points to the “Cavanagh, 9” on the back of his shirt. They all start cheering.

“Ten points for the peanut gallery,” Goop comments. “Who all did you invite? Everyone you know?”

I point at AK. “This is your fault. You encouraged this.”

For the first time since I’ve known him, his serious demeanor drops and he starts to laugh. “You walked into this.”

I take my glove off for the sole purpose of flipping him off.

“Take the Goddamn face off, Tilly!” AK groans, and I slip up to the center, nearly skidding ice into Berkowitz’s face.

“Surprise, bitch, I bet you thought you saw the last of me.”

“I hate you, Cavanagh. I really hate you,” he says.

“And that makes me so, so sad.”

“Jesus Christ,” the ref mutters. “I have to do this again with you assholes?”

He drops the puck and the game is on. I snatch it, pushing it backwards into our territory. I spin around Berkowitz, nearly pirouetting, and it just frustrates him to no end.

“Fuck you!” I sing, slipping through the defensive line by making myself smaller. I see Goop end up behind the net, so I get into my position for the post-up play he’s setting up. He passes to AK, who passes to me. Dags shifts around their defender, coming for backup for me, but it seems as though I’m going to have to avoid Berkowitz again.

I deke past him, and it’s just too easy. I try to shoot, but they’ve upgraded their goalie. He blocks it. It’s still in play though, so I snatch it up, slip it around the back of the goal, and deke again. This time, it goes in.

The air horn sounds, and I hear a massive ruckus from the stands. It transforms into a chorus of “do do do”s that sound hilariously familiar.

“Is your growing fanbase singing Chelsea Dagger?” Dags asks, somewhere behind me as we go in for the faceoff.

“Fuck yeah, they are!” I call out. The dozen of them are going nuts in the stands. I don’t have the heart to tell them this is just a league finals game, and they’re treating it like the Goddamn Stanley Cup, but it does fill my heart a little.

Berkowitz doesn’t even have the energy to chirp me. I’m fine with it. I let it go, settling into the faceoff.

Okay, maybe I don’t let it go. I lean into it, not letting go of the smile that I can’t seem to shake.

“Wipe that smile off your face, Cavanagh.”

“I’m thinkin’ about the fun I had with your wife last night,” I snap quickly. The ref even looks shaken as he starts the faceoff. I shoot the puck backwards and get the fuck out of the way. It’s a quick shot. I shift out of the way as fast as I can, trying to back up Dags as he weaves through the defenders. I end up on our side, close to the goal, when I take my first hit. This time, it’s Ables. He’s probably warming me up. He goes low and knocks me off my feet, slamming my back down against the ice. It hurts my already sore shoulder. It takes me a minute to get up and they’re all at the other end of the rink.

“Wheels, Kate! Wheels!” I hear from the stands. It sounds like Will, but I don’t look to see. Instead, I unleash, crouching down and rocketing forward as fast as I can. I scare one of their forwards as I come in so fast and loud, and I intercept their attempt at a pass. It’s mine. I’m gonna get it in. Raz flies low in front of me, careful not to fuck up my play, but knocking into one of their defensemen before he can come at me. I deke left, slip right, remember the tips Mouse gave me, and attempt a backhand slapshot.

The chorus of Chelsea Dagger gets sung again, and I’m pleasantly out of breath. I decide to swap out for Howie to give myself a quick break. We only have about four minutes left of the first period, so it’s fine.

I grab myself a water and shake out my hair. It’s already a mess, so I tuck it into a messy bun and settle in to watch more of the game.

“Kate, you gotta check their right forward. He cannot shoot to his right worth shit,” Jay says. I look over my shoulder and listen to his conspiratorial whisper. “He always shifts to his left before he tries to shoot a pass. He telegraphs it every time.”

“You know I love you, right?”

He just nods. “Oh, and Berkowitz looks like he’s gonna murder you.”

“It’s still a viable option,” I say, leaning on my stick. “Also, why is there a peanut gallery at my game?”

“It’s the finals,” he scoffs. “Besides, we told Herrmann we’re gonna convince the Valentines to change their celebration bar to Molly’s.”

“So there it is,” I say, pointing at him accusingly. “I see what you’re doing. Does this mean I have to win?”

“I mean, yeah,” Jay says, cringing a little. “We made t-shirts, Kate. I’m wearing a shirt with your name on the back.”

“God, I hate you. Hey. Seriously, though? I kinda enjoy the shirts.”

“It was Mouse’s idea.”

“Of course it was.”

“Hey, what happened after you left the Halloween party?”

“You do not want to know.”

His face brightens. “What? Are you two back together?”

“No! Yes? No. No, we’re not. I am not ready for that. I don’t think he’s ready for that. Dude, this is not the time or the place for this conversation, stop distracting me!”

Jay just starts up the stairs again. “Now you’re starting to sound like Mouse.”

“What? Wait, explain—Goddammit, Jay!”

We’re 2-1 going into the second period. AK thinks he’s got a plan, but I’m not sure it’s a good one, until he tells me I need to piss off Berkowitz.

“We’ve got some solid power plays, but that means we need to make sure they get penalized, not us,” he explains, checking the time. “That means Tilly, you need to piss him off, but you need to take the hits without fighting back.”

“Not an ideal situation, but I can make it happen. For now, right?”

“Okay, for now,” he says. “You’ve got one more instigator fight in this season,” he chides. “Any more, and you’ll get kicked out, and we need you until the end of this. Got it?”

I nod. This one is gonna hurt, but at least Will’s in the stands.

I square up against Berkowitz for the first faceoff of the second period. I wink at the referee.

“Hey, ref, can we please do a running clock? Berkowitz here wants to get home to jerk off to his favorite Playgirl magazine.”

I don’t even think he hears me anymore. Berkowitz does, though. And he hears my laughing when I get the puck and pass it to Chicks.

“What is your malfunction?” He calls out. I bump and weave through their defenders, receiving a pass from Murf and pulling off a beautiful dangle in front of Berkowitz. It’s really unnecessary, my fancy footwork, but it manages to piss him off.

“Someone misspelled ‘cocksucker’ on the back of your jersey,” I say. His face immediately falls into one I’m familiar with. I quickly pass the puck to Chicks as he slips by but we all know what’s going to happen.

I try to square up to Berkowitz, but I know he’s coming for me. He’s gunning for me and it’s all I can do to find a safe place out of the way to take his hit.

But he drops low and comes at me with everything he’s got, dropping his gloves as he goes.

He fucking nails me to the boards. I hit so hard I nearly see stars, but I do what I can to make sure I don’t get penalized: I drop to the ice, protecting my neck as he pummels me. For a moment, I can’t breathe, because he’s knocked the wind out of me, but the ref finally makes it to us and rips Berkowitz from me. He’s out of breath from rage. I’m out of breath from the beating.

He gets the book thrown at him, but I don’t even know how much time he’s got in the sin bin. I swap out for Howie, still wheezing a little. They’re successfully a man down.

Will comes down as close as he can while I’m still struggling to breathe.

“You good?”

“I’ll... I’ll be fine.”

“Kate, you got nailed. Why didn’t you fight back?”

“Power play,” I say, nodding towards the rink. “It’s fine. I’m gonna be fine.”

“Should I prep an x-ray?” Will asks.

I start to be able to breathe again. “Probably. I’m gonna dislocate my shoulder again. You know how quickly that happens.”

“Dammit. Why do you insist on being this way?”

“I’ve got a dozen people to impress,” I say. I’m gonna be so bruised. My knee already throbs.

Will rolls his eyes. “At least clean the blood up first.”

“I’m bleeding?”

He grabs a nearby towel—I’m sure it’s not the cleanest thing in the world, but it’ll do—and holds it against my eye.

“Can you chill out for a little while?”

“Why? I’ve got three doctors, a charge nurse, a paramedic, and a couple of firefighters here. This is literally the best time for me to pull this off.”

“I hate the fact that you’re right,” he grumbles.

We’re well into the second period by the time they tap me back in. We’re at 4-2. We just need to hold on. Edger is getting tired. The new baby is wearing him out, and we can’t have that right now. I mean, the baby’s cute and all, but this is the finals.

I settle back in for the face off against Berkowitz.

“Oh, you done nursing your wounds?”

“Did you not get the picture the last time you wore that damn visor?” I chirp. “Are you trying to hide your disgusting tiny goblin eyes? Whoops!” I say, distracting him long enough to snatch the puck. I pass it and slow down long enough to give him an Italian salute.

“Fuckin’ bitch!” He cries out, and I just laugh. I let out a loud, maniacal laugh that makes even Chicks holler.

“Worst thing to do, man,” Chicks calls out. “Worst thing you could do.”

I don’t even feel my wounds anymore. I’ve forced him to settle into the most basic insults he could ever come up with, and that’s all that matters at this point. I’ve beat him down. Now I’ve got to bury him.

He’s got the puck, so I come at him like a knight and we’re jousting. I poke check Berkowitz and pass it to Raz before he even realizes what happened.

“It’s not my fault you suck at hockey.”

“Yeah, Berks, you suck at hockey.” I see his own Goddamn teammate skate by, and I bust out laughing.

He thinks about ramming me into the boards, but he decides otherwise because the ref is watching us like a hawk.

“Sorry, Berkowitz can’t come to the phone right now, he’s busy getting his ass beat by a girl,” I say into my fake phone. He comes at me again, and this time, it’s like we’re playing tag down the rink.

Luckily for us, we’ve got other players who can make shots. He may be a shitty center, but he’s a damn good enforcer, so distracting him leaves his teammates vulnerable. They really start to realize it when Laser steals the puck right under Falenkova’s nose.

He passes to me, I pass to Kilts and he pulls off a one-timer, immediately hitting the puck into their goal from my pass.

Berkowitz comes at me again, and this time I stand my ground.

“Hey, your wife and I had a great talk at brunch the other day,” I say skating backwards, still in his face. “It’s a shame, really. A man of your size, with a dick that small?”

He comes at me. I shift backwards and count his strides: one, two, three, success. He shoves me, but the ref calls him again. And like your stereotypical white boy with a chip on his shoulder, his gloves are off. I practically run from him, skating backwards, but I hit a wall.

This one is gonna hurt, too. I try to brace myself, but he takes me down. I know my shoulder’s out of place, and he grabs me, tossing me onto the ice. God, not now. I need to keep playing—

Fuck, I think I nearly blacked out that time. I try to pull myself to my feet as the ref pulls Berkowitz off of me, but it takes me a minute because I can’t put any weight on my arm. It takes Kilts to pull me to my feet again.

“You good, Tilly?”

“I’m… I’m good. I’m getting Howie.”

I swap out for Howie again. God, I’m exhausted. I find the bloody towel I had been using and wipe the sweat and blood from my face as I try to regain whatever conscious thought I could find in the middle of this game. 5-2. We can actually pull this off.

Somehow, my hair tie had broken, but it’s fine. I can make it work.

“Can you be a little more careful?”

I lean backwards until I run into the knees of Greg. He’s still damn cute upside down.

“You know that’s impossible for me.”

“Okay, I get that, but please? For my sake?”

I lean my head onto his knees, resting my dizzy eyes by closing them. “I’m about to challenge that asshole to a duel. He ain’t gonna apologize to me. Hey, you want to be my second?”

“There is no way I’m talking to that team,” he says. “And if I talk to him, I’m gonna fight him myself.”

“Will’s up there; he can supervise,” I suggest.

“Maybe a duel at dawn is not the best option,” he finally says. “I can drain his bank account. Donate it to some Irish orphans' organization.”

“Now that’s an idea I can get behind,” I say. “I like that. I think we can pull that one off.”

“We? There’s no we in that. That’s me with a cell phone and five minutes.”

“Okay, fine, we all have our strengths,” I say. “You? Computers. Me? Hitting things.”

He pushes the hair back from my face and I finally open my eyes.

“Do you want a hair tie or something?”

“Mine broke,” I say. He pulls one off his wrist, under his watch.

“Did you bring me an auxiliary hair tie?” I accuse, squinting my eyes at him.

“I have two, actually,” he corrects. Without having to ask, he pulls my hair into a ponytail and does it for me. I can hide my grin, and it’s enough to make him smile, too.

“You’re gonna have another black eye if you’re not careful.”

“Par for the course, Mouse. Par for the course.”

“Seriously, though. Be careful,” he mutters, running his thumb over my split lip. He wipes away blood. I just force myself back upwards.

I can’t think about this right now. I can’t think about what happened the other night, and the confusing middle ground we’re now standing on. I’m not sure where we stand. I’m not sure where I want to stand. It’s a decision I’m going to have to make that’s vastly different than my decision eight months ago.

“You good?” He asks again, laying his hand on my shoulder. I cringe. “Dammit, Kate.”

“I need you to very quietly get Will,” I say, reaching under my jersey and un-Velcroing my pads. The pressure is bad enough, but by the time Will gets down to the bench, he’s already pissed.

“The hell did you do?”

“My shoulder’s out again—”

“You shouldn’t be playing!”

“I need to play,” I snap. “I need to play, and you need to fix it.”

“You could suffer some serious consequences—”

“I don’t give a fuck, just pop it back in!”

He puts both hands on either side of my shoulder and does it the unorthodox way. The pressure releases and it’s still throbbing, but I can function again.

“You shouldn’t be playing,” he mutters.

“I’m gonna win.”

“Fine, but if you end up seriously hurting yourself, it’s not my fault.”

My head pounds until we’re well into the third period. We just have to maintain our lead and we win the league for the third tournament in a row. But I watch Berkowitz purposely trip Laser and he doesn’t get called for it, making my blood boil once again.

It’s about time when Howie taps me in. I slip in on the fly and shoot across the rink in front of him.

“Guess who, asshole?!” I cry out.

“I’m gonna end you, Paddy bitch!”

“May the Devil make a ladder of your backbone and pluck apples in the garden of Hell!”

“The hell does that mean?” Ables scoffs, looking slightly impressed.

“Irish for go to hell and have fun fucking Satan,” I explain. I get out of their way and head for AK. He passes it to me, and I pass it back to him, and he tries for a goal but we get blocked again. I cringe, my shoulder throbbing.

AK breezes by me once more. “If you get him kicked out one more time, league rules say he can’t play in the next tournament at all.”

My face lights up. It hurts, with the bruises and cuts, but I still can’t stop grinning. “The entire six-month tournament?”

He just nods solemnly.

Looks like I’m gonna take it, and I’m gonna take it with a smile. I’m willing to break some bones on this one. Even though I’m already hurting.

“Hey, Berkowitz!” I call out, passing him. “How about I let you pick the hand I beat the fuck out of you with? Right or left? Your call.”

“I’ll take you out, Cavanagh!”

“I’ll fuck you up so badly, when I’m done with you, your own mother won’t recognize you.”

I hear one of his teammates yell at him, because he let a pass slip by. I’m distracting him so much, he’s not even playing the damn game. They try for a goal, and it’s not good, but we’re facing off again. I’m in his face, and he’s not happy about it.

“Hey. Remember that serial killer that was terrorizing Chicago couple of years back?”

“What the fuck does that have to do with anything?” Berkowitz snaps.

I give him my best grin. I’m sure between my mouthguard and the bleeding, I look like a horror movie. “I’m the one who snapped his neck.”

“Jesus Christ, Tilly,” Laser mutters, but we’re off. I try to work my way down the ice, but he’s coming for me. I turn around, skating backwards to yell at him.

“I know you’re kind of busy staring at the players’ asses, but you’re missin’ a hell of a game.”

“I will end you,” he growls. I’ve got him back down to his base chirps, so I hit him one last time:

“I’ll beat you like you’re on a fishing trip with your father!”

He snaps. It’s practically intoxicating as he comes at me. And gloriously enough, I’m more than three strides away. Charging, about to be boarding, and fighting. I brace myself.

I know I’m going to hurt. But it’s going to be worth it.

He slams me into the wall with more power than I expected. Again, I can’t breathe. His gloves are off, and he’s punching me so hard I hit the wall again. I can’t even brace myself, and my knee goes out. There goes my shoulder again. I feel something crack. I don’t know where, but I manage only enough time to slide onto my back. I can’t punch with my left hand, so I hold it close to my chest, and unfortunately, he gets the drop on me.

He’s just cursing. I can’t even understand him as he picks me up and punches me again.

I didn’t even get my gloves off. I don’t even know what that means at this point. He grabs my collar, winds back. I hear the victory horn, but he’s still on me. I hear whistles. A bunch of yelling. He grasps onto me, onto my throat, and I feel like I can’t even focus. Every hit he lands on me just feels like I’m numb.

But we won. We won the finals. Third time in a row. He throws another punch, and I just try to get on my side to protect my face. I drop to the cold ice—


	15. Here's the evidence of human existence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kate may be bloodied, but she doesn't care. The tournament won and a completed trip to Gaffney, she and Greg have a moment of complete vulnerability leading to a previously unvoiced truth.

“Tilly! Full Tilt Tilly, you good?”

Raz is over me. He’s offering me a hand, and I take it, but I feel like jelly. He practically picks me up. Between him and Kilts, who wraps his arm around my waist, they skate me to the edge of the rink. I feel like my bones have shifted around in my body.

“The fuck just happened?”

“We think you blacked out!” Kilts says. He’s way too happy about it.

They drag me out of the rink. I think we’re going down the hallway, but my eyesight goes in and out.

“That... that’s not good,” I say. “What happened to what’s-his-face?”

“Dude, he’s getting booted from the entire league,” Raz says. “You didn’t even get a chance to engage! He fought an female player in the last five minutes and he’s had like, six calls on him this year. You didn’t just get him kicked out of the tournament. He’s out of play forever. They’re discussing pressing charges!”

I realize I need to pick up my legs to move now that we’re off the ice. My knee doesn’t want to comply. They still practically drag me to the locker room. When we get there, I see Will, Natalie, Jay, and Greg lingering outside, in various states of worry, concern, and amusement.

“Get her into the locker room,” Will says, defeated. “I need to look her over.”

“Give us five minutes,” Raz says, practically begging.

Will rolls his eyes. Once we’re in, they set me down on a bench, and AK does his typical after finals speech, he announces we’re headed to Molly’s in my honor. He opens up the locker room door, and I hear him speaking to Will, but I’m still in a daze.

He uses his phone flashlight to check my eyes, but he seems to be okay with it.

“What the hell was that?!” He says, helping someone pull my jersey off.

“Power plays, baby!” I say. My head is pounding.

“How’s your vision?”

“Little bit blurry,” I admit, “Headache. Dizzy. I am concussed, Dr. Halstead. I recognize this.”

He tries to pull my arm away from my chest, and he just glares at me.

“Did you break your wrist?”

“Probably.”

“Dammit, Kate. We need to get her to Med.” I’m not sure who he says that to, because I’m still wavering.

“I’m fine, I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

“That’s not the proper way to deal with a broken bone,” Natalie says. “Listen to Will.”

“Okay!” I say. It’s too easy, but I watch as Greg and Will take off my skates.

“I think we’ve been here before!” I call out. Will doesn’t laugh, but Greg does.

“Go on to Molly’s,” Will says. “Mouse and I will deal with her at Med.” Mouse beckons me to my feet.

“I’ll bring the car around,” Will says, helping me first to my feet and secondly leading me to Mouse. He pulls the sweatshirt I had packed for afterwards out of my bag and chuckles.

“I’ve been looking for this,” he says, holding up the red hoodie.

“You left it at my apartment. After a certain amount of time, it became my hoodie,” I say, pulling it on carefully over my wounds.

“You look better in it anyway,” he finally says, grabbing my bag and then me. It’s a little easier to stand than before, but my head starts to pound. “Why the hell did you do that?”

“He got kicked out of the league,” I say, holding my arm close to me again. He rests his hand on my waist, so I clutch onto him as he guides me out of the rink. I’m limping. Huh. Didn’t know that. “I got him kicked out. Permanently. Just had to take a few hits.”

“You are too small to be an enforcer,” he grumbles. “You really need to be more careful.”

“I’m usually the one telling you that,” I counter. He doesn’t really have anything to say.

“You kicked ass tonight.”

“I usually do.”

“Okay, fine, but seriously, Kate. You’re too reckless on the ice.”

“You care about me,” I accuse.

“Of course I do,” he says, then doesn’t make any attempt to backpedal. “That’s not the point.”

I lean forward and kiss him on the cheek. That makes him stop and stutter.

“What... what was that for?!”

“Those t-shirts. For coming. For holding me up while I have a number of undisclosed injuries.”

“Oh. You know I’m gonna support you. You’ve got my back.”

“Of course I do.”

“So I’m always gonna have yours. Besides, these t-shirts? This could easily become blackmail.”

I groan. “You’re an asshole.”

* * *

**November 4, 2018**   
**0224 Hours**   
**Molly’s Pub, Chicago**

It’s well past midnight by the time we make it to Molly’s. I’m a definitive hot mess: a pounding headache, but at least the dizziness had started to subside; a slightly broken wrist, a dislocated shoulder, now in a sling; a sore knee, a black eye, and various cuts and bruises. It hurts to breathe, sure, but it’s a good kind of pain.

“Have fun explaining this to your students on Monday,” Mouse mutters, hovering unnecessarily close to me as we work our way into Molly’s.

“Someone’s going to be doing drills by themselves,” I say, and he lets out a loud groan. I just steal his hat once more.

When we open the door, it appears everyone was way past drunk. I get a rousing round of applause and whooping from the regulars and my team, all proudly wearing their green t-shirts.

“So, what’s the verdict?” Jay asks, pushing a water towards me. I’m kind of sad I can’t drink, but I’ll be way better off not, with the amount of pain I’m still promised from my wounds.

Will runs down the laundry list, and I start making my way limping through the hoard. It takes what feels like forever before I make it to the other end of the bar. Stella’s manning this end, so I beckon her over.

“Is there any way I could bother you for like, a lot of ice? Just. Bags of ice.”

“Got your back,” she says, slipping into the back. I wait for her to come back with a couple towel wrapped plastic bags, and I rest one on my shoulder, one on my wrist, one on my knee and hold one against my face.

I feel kind of pathetic and victorious all at once.

“That good of a day?” He says.

I glance to my left. He slides up onto one of the bar stools. I look over him once more: dark hair, swept back. He went back to his old style, but it’s messed up from his hat that I stole. The side smirk. It’s not something I was used to seeing as of late. His blue eyes, sparkling in the fairy lights hanging from the ceiling. I can see the now healed burns leading up from his arm to under his shirt sleeve. They’re a part of him now, sure, but he doesn’t have to only be what’s happened to him.

“That’s the first thing you said to me,” he tries. He more so stutters, like he’s trying to be smooth again but just doesn’t quite have it in him. “Right here in this bar.”

“I remember.”

He looks into the mirrors hanging behind the bar for a moment. His furrowed brow softens, and he looks down at his hands. The unanswered question still lingers on my lips.

“Why did you leave? Why did you really leave?”

He closes his eyes and swallows before he can answer. “Over there, I had rank. People listened to me.”

“But... but why did you leave?” I insist.

“I... I was scared, I guess. I… I felt like I couldn’t protect you. After Boniface, after… after him, I didn’t think I could protect you anymore. Not that… not that you needed me to protect you. I just… I was terrified.”

“Why?” I ask one more time.

“Because I didn’t want you to realize one day that I wasn’t good enough for you,” he says, with a bit more force than I think he intended. I see Jay perk up out of the corner of my eye, lurking over with Will and Natalie.

“You have not only been good enough for me, Greg, but you’ve been good for me.”

He slips to the bar stool next to me and changes the subject. “I hacked the security cameras at Landstuhl. I heard what you said. About your hockey team, and UIC, and Saint Gabriel’s, and all the things you never thought I would hear. About you talking to Ortiz. About The Cure and Frightened Rabbit and our first date breaking into Millennium Park. Everything.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” I ask, turning towards him.

“I wasn’t ready,” he admits. “I didn’t think you would be, either.” He takes a long drink from his glass. We both end up staring into the wood grain of the bar for a while.

“Why?” He asks softly. “Why did you come to visit me?”

I guess he’s allowed to ask. I pushed him to answer my question. It’s the least I can do.

“I had to. I checked every month. I checked every month at Landstuhl for you until my worst nightmare came true.”

“Why?” He asks again.

“I didn’t want you to be alone. I didn’t want you to go through what I had to go through. I... I had you. I couldn’t let you... I couldn’t let you be alone,” I say. “That wasn’t fair to you, and it wasn’t fair to me. I... you shouldn’t be alone.”

“Why?” He asks one more time.

“Because dammit, Mouse, I still love you.”

He just peers at me for a moment, in shock, maybe; I’m in shock myself. I didn’t know. I didn’t realize it until he came out of my mouth. He just pushed me until… until it came out. The truth was always there, on my lips, but I just always tried to push it away.

But he waits one final moment. He doesn’t say a word. He just slips his hand around my neck, under my hair, and pulls me into him. He kisses me. He kisses me like he’s been waiting two years to kiss me. I gasp against him. I’m unprepared when he pulls away, but he’s unprepared when I pull him back into me. He jumps down off of his bar stool, kissing me until I hear a whoop from Jay.

When we break the kiss, I feel the blush in my cheeks, even in the low light. I don’t know where to go from here. After that kiss, we can't go back.

* * *

**November 4, 2018**   
**0512 Hours**   
**Prairie Shores, Chicago**

It’s still dark when we leave Molly’s. After the brief outburst, we went our separate ways, talking to whoever we could before we realized Molly’s was closing down for the morning.

We didn’t even talk about it. We both fell into ragged step together, we both found an Uber together, although I felt like I had been hit by a truck, both emotionally and physically.

I realize quickly we’re not going to right way to get back to the apartment. When he gets out near the drop off point at the edge of the 31st Street Beach, and beckons me to join him, I take his hand.

It’s still dark as he leads me forward. It’s almost chilly, but it feels good, the biting lake wind hitting me in a softer way than I’ve been hit before.

We walk silently down near the docks, and I realize what he’s doing. It’s a quiet reflection point. It’s the pier at the beach. He helps me sit down, and I lean against him, my feet dangling off the side and nearly hitting the water.

We sit there in silence for a long time. He slips his arm around me, pulling me closer, as we watch the sunrise through the smattering of clouds. It’s the quietest I’ve found my mind in a long time.

“I should have never left,” he says, whispering. “I should have talked to you. I should have known better.”

“Don’t talk about the shoulds,” I interrupt. “It’s not fair to either of us now to dwell on it.”

“Fair enough. Can we... can we start over?”

“I don’t want to start over,” I say. I can feel his anxiety from here. “Why don’t we pick up where we left off instead?”

“I’m good with that. I’m... I’m more than good with that.” He sighs, and we both look out over the lake. Across the way, we can see the city start to wake up. It’s a striking sight.

“I have something for you,” he says, pulling a small box from his pocket. I don't feel as much panic as I expect to, and that's what scares me. He holds the bottom and I use my good hand to open the box. Inside is a traditional, simple, silver claddagh ring.

“What’s this for?”

He talks out of the side of his mouth, like he does when he thinks he’s being smart. “Oh, you know, nothing in particular.”

“Did you just sass me?”

“It was an attempt at sarcasm,” he says. “And if I have to explain it, it didn’t work.”

“It worked,” I say. I can’t hide my smile.

“For almost this whole year, you dealt with my bullshit. You dealt with it, and you helped me carry it. I mean, it’s really been longer than that, let’s be real.”

“It’s been almost three years,” I correct. “Just because you weren’t here doesn’t mean I don’t mostly count it.”

“I know I’m not the same person I was two years ago—”

“Are any of us the same people we were two years ago? Stop using it as an excuse. Let’s just move on, move forward. You’re home now.”

I pull the ring out of the box. “How exactly am I supposed to wear this?” I say, trying to hide my smile.

The façade drops. It’s so easy to fluster the man, even after everything we’ve been through. “Well, uh. I was hoping we could start with it... pointing in, you know, on your right hand.”

He did his research, and he’s solidifying our relationship once again. I’m suddenly thankful it was that easy. He takes it, slips it on my finger, and admires it.

“Looks good. Happy… happy birthday, Kate.”

I slip my hand behind his neck and pull him into me. He kisses me harder and deeper than he did at Molly’s. He kisses me like his life depends on it. I feel the heat of the rising sun when we finally break.

For the first time in a long time, I finally feel like I can breathe. He brushes the hair back from my face, eyeing me under his Hawks hat.

“People are gonna think I beat you or something,” he says, getting to his feet and then helping me.

“I’m not apologizing. I told you, they kicked Berkowitz out of the entire league.”

“Why do you have to be the one to take the hits?”

“Someone’s always got to be to the one to take the hits,” I say, leaning into him as we walk down the pier. "Hey, you wanna go get breakfast? Bridgeport isn’t far from here.”

“We look like we’ve literally been out all night.”

I step in front of him, walking backwards, even though it hurts. He’s illuminated by the reflection of the sun on the water and framed by the city behind him. It’s like a sudden reminder he’s back, and he’s mine again.

“So what? Steak and eggs, Mouse. Chicken and waffles. Pancakes! Think about the pancakes!”

He starts to laugh. I give him my hand. He doesn’t hesitate as he takes it. I feel him run his finger over the claddagh ring. Something tells me I don’t have to worry about him letting go this time.


	16. Epilogue: Am I here? Of course, I am, yes. All I need is your hand to drag me out again.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg plays his first hockey game. Kate voices her last fear. Greg asks her the question he's held in his chest for three years.

**January 22, 2019**  
**1732 Hours**  
**Johnny’s Ice House East**

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

“I need you to stop hovering.”

I take a step back from Greg, as he finishes putting on his pads. I’m nervous. I’m never nervous. I’m usually ready to rumble, get on the rink, crack some skulls, but this is his first game, and I don’t know if I can handle it.

But he looks calm, cool, collected. More than I’ve ever seen him. I don’t know what’s on his mind, or what he’s focused on, but I wish I could tap into some of that right now.

“Are you okay?” I ask, and he pulls on his jersey. His jersey, in the North Side Valentines colors, number 35, Gerwitz. I straighten the bottom.

“I was gonna ask you the same thing,” he says, watching me. I finally break from my reverie.

“Sorry. Sorry, it’s just… you look good. You look good in that jersey.”

“I hope I play good,” he says.

“You don’t seem nervous,” I say. “I’m way more nervous than you are.”

He looks down at his skates, like he can’t quite make eye contact with me. “There are so many other things I’ve been and I’m going to be nervous about, and this isn’t one of them, you know?”

I lean over the bench and kiss him, which is met by a lot of screaming from the rest of the team.

“Keep it in your pants!” Raz yells, so I flip him off.

“But really. It’s been a ride,” I say. “But it’s the new year—”

“Don’t say ‘new year, new me’. That’s bullshit and you know it.”

“I’m not gonna say it. What I’m gonna say is that things… things are different now. I don’t know, I just…” The words are just coming straight from my mouth, not my brain. “Seeing you in that jersey, and knowing you’re… you’re with me, and you’re teaching ROTC, and you’re… you’re safe, it means a lot.”

All he can do is give me a side smirk. An endearing little smirk.

He puts on his helmet. “I’m ready to kick some ass.”

* * *

And kick ass, he does.

We were 6-0 by the end, and Mouse covered the entire game. The team makes it to Molly’s in record time, and the drinks are already flowing by the time he and I make it there.

AK thrusts a drink into Mouse’s hand and pulls him to his side near the bar. I know he’s about to make his traditional first game speech, but this is something new. He throws his arm around Mouse’s shoulders.

“For three years, Edger suffered, playing back to back games, sometimes three a week!”

Edger just rolls his eyes. I know he’s going to head home as soon as he can, but he’s got to revel in the win at least a little bit.

“The first time I met this guy, he was in a wheelchair. Barely a year ago,” AK says, and I feel the emotion welling in my throat. Nope, I can’t cry, not here, not in front of them, not at Molly’s. I step backwards into the crowd a little and let him continue. “Now, he’s on the ice, protecting our goal, and being an all-around badass.”

“Stopped Vice’s resident sniper in his tracks!” Goop calls out. The team starts to cheer; I just look at Mouse. He’s beaming. He’s beaming as he looks around the room. God, he’s so happy. At least, I think he is.

“Yeah, and who taught him how to long pass from the crease?” Laser adds. The group turns and looks at me accusingly.

“Okay, maybe I did, but he already knew most of this shit based on the hours of hockey he’s watched! He just needed a little technique.”

“To Mouse, for keepin’ us safe at home and abroad,” Chicks says, trying to wrap it up. “Glad you’re on our team.”

They cheer, I clink as many glasses as I can, then slip out of the group, although the Halsteads aren’t far away. I slip onto the end stool at their high-top table and sigh, trying catch my breath.

“He kicked ass,” Jay finally says. “So did you.”

“I knew I had it in him, but Jesus. We didn’t do much practicing, you know? A little in the fall, and then bam, he’s playing on the team. He could barely skate before he left, and then he had to relearn, so I had no idea. I…” Both of them exchange long looks and lose my train of thought. “He was practicing without me.”

“Literally any time he could,” Jay says. “He was in that damn rink.”

“Why?” I ask, but it’s more of a rhetorical question. Regardless, Will chuckles.

“You really want someone to answer that question? He wanted to impress you. That’s literally why he does anything, and you should know that by now.”

I glance back at him. He’s still smiling. I’m still not used to it.

“Do you think he’s happy?” I say, nearly to myself.

“What?”

I turn back to Jay, and Will, who asked me to clarify. “I just wonder if he’s actually happy. I’m constantly scared he’s gonna say no. I mean, we were happy for months, and he just left, you know? I just want to make sure he’s… that he’s gonna stay.”

“He’s gonna stay,” Jay says over his beer bottle.

“How can you be sure?”

“Trust me. He’s gonna stay.”

I lean over and kiss Jay on the cheek, and do the same for Will. “Love you both.”

I extricate myself from the busy part of the bar and head for the less crowded end after briefly welcoming Sylvie. Honestly, I never thought we would make it this far. Almost a whole year ago, he was ready to give up, and now look at him. He’s happy. I mean, I think he’s happy. I hope he’s happy.

He sidles up to me, and I can tell he’s still riding the high of today. I notice he’s not wearing his own team shirt—he’s wearing the shirt he made last year, number 9, Cavanagh.

“Why are you wearing that shirt? You’re gonna embarrass me.”

“If I could embarrass you, you would have left me a long time ago,” he says, chuckling. “Why are you hanging out over here?”

“Oh, just watching. Just listening. How one does.”

“You should come over and join us,” he says, gesturing to the Halsteads.

“I’m good here for now.”

He finishes off his drink and sets it on the counter. Instead of turning back, though, he leans on the wood. “What are you really thinking about?”

“Are you happy?”

“W-what?” That ever present, weak façade falls once again.

“Are you happy?” I repeat.

“Am I… what made you ask me this?”

I look down into my empty glass. “We’re living together. We’re back together, I mean, we’re better than we ever were. You joined the hockey team. And you have a job, one that I think—I hope—you find more of what you wanted before you—before—”

“Before I left,” He says. I can’t say it. It still sucks. I’m working on it, but it still sucks.

“I don’t want you to leave again.”

“I’m not going to leave again,” he says, definitively. It’s a conversation we’ve had so many times, and he’s patient with me. It’s always the same answer.

“So, I just wanted to know: are you happy?”

I finally look up to him. His face isn’t searching for an answer; I think he’s already found one, but it’s finding its way through his brain and to his lips. Actually, it takes him much longer than I expect, and I’m suddenly afraid of what’s going to come out of his mouth next.

He draws a quick breath and whispers, “Marry me.”

I chuckle, and it breaks him from his trance. Again, the façade falls, and he nearly panics. “What?!” I manage.

He runs his hand through his hair. “I just… I had a plan, I swear I had a plan, but—but no. You… you could’ve walked away a thousand times, but you didn’t. You never gave up on me. And you know I never gave up on you. I… don’t want to wait anymore. Just… marry me.”

I feel like my heart drops to the floor, and then somersaults into my throat. He’s serious. He’s being serious. “You—you’re—you’re serious. You’re for real right now.”

“Do you—would it be better if I got down on one knee? I can totally do that,” he says, fumbling with his back pocket. He has a fucking ring. He’s got a ring?! How long as he had a ring?

He sinks down to one knee, and there’s a quiet hush over the bar as people start to notice. They’re people I know. They’re my friends, they’re our friends, our teammates—

“Kate, will you marry me?”

I feel the weight of it all crush down on me. Three years. Three years of my life, devoted to this man. Three years of him devoted to me, whether I realized it or not. And I didn’t regret a single minute.

I’m wordlessly nodding, I realize. I’m nodding until I can muster out a ‘yes’. In the middle of an old bar, in my sweaty hockey clothes on a Tuesday night, I’m saying yes to a marriage proposal.

He actually has a ring. I didn’t know he thought that far, and he slips it on my hand. It looks old: a gold band, a medium sized diamond surrounded by two smaller ones on each side. When he gets up, I pull him into a kiss and the bar roars. When I look to Jay, and to Will, I see it in their faces: they already knew. They already knew long before I did.

“You’re an asshole,” I whisper, not willing quite yet to let him go.

“I had a plan,” he stutters. “I really did have a plan, you’ve gotta believe me—”

I kiss him again. “This was the best plan.”

The façade returns, even though I can see right through his fake confidence. “I stand by my decision.”

“Jesus, Greg, how did you keep this a secret?” I say, looking at the ring. It’s perfect. It’s flawless. I never thought… I never even considered… “Pretty bold answer to whether you were happy or not.”

He gives me a cheesy smile, an apologetic smile. “I’m telling you, I had a plan! You just… you set it up so well!”

“You didn’t answer my question,” I accuse.

“You answered it for me,” he says matter-of-factly. “Right before I slipped your engagement ring on your finger.”

“A resounding yes?” I say, and he pulls me close to him once more.

“More like, a stuttering yes with an accompanying breathless nod, but sure.”

“We’ve only been back together for barely three months!”

“Semantics,” he mutters. “You still said yes.”

“Of course, I’m going to say yes,” I say peering back down at the ring. “Where the hell did you even get it?”

“It was my grandmother’s, and she demanded you meet her first,” he explains. “If you see on the inside, it’s engraved with the year they got married.”

I pull it off and see the tiniest of engravings: _February 15, 1946._ I put it back on. I don’t want to take it off again.

“Wait… she demanded to meet me first?”

He cringes a little. “I wasn’t permitted her ring until she met you, yes.”

“Greg, that… that was in September! We weren’t even—we weren’t back together, I… what—”

“I told you, I had a plan!” He says. “I was gonna enact that plan, but things… things worked out better than I could have ever planned. She was right all along.”

“I love her, Greg. I love you.” The words come out of my mouth without thinking, but this is something I don’t have to think about. None of this is something I even have to consider. This entire thing wasn’t even an option for us, but apparently, suddenly, it is.

“I love you, too.”

“Does this mean I can adopt her now?”

“Absolutely, you can adopt her.”

I stare at the ring, sparkling under the fairy lights. We’re so different now—we’ve been through enough shit—but he’s truly the same man I met here three years ago.

“Today’s the same date we met,” I whisper. I look over him once more: dark hair, swept back. The side smirk. His blue eyes, sparkling in the fairy lights hanging from the ceiling.

I kiss him one more time.

“We definitely are going to have to tell my grandma, you know. Maybe this weekend.”

“Is she going to be shocked? Does she know we were dating again?”

He nods. “She knows everything.”

“Hey, what did she call me?”

“What do you mean?”

“The word she called me when we were there. In Polish.”

He already seems to know. “_Moja wnuczka_. She was making fun of me. It means ‘my granddaughter’.”

“She’s a prophet.”

“She’s something,” he laughs.

“What about what she called you? Myz… something.”

He chuckles. “_Myszczka._”

“What’s it mean?”

“That’s classified,” he says.

“I officially have clearance,” I say, waving the ring in his face.

“Alright, alright." He sighs a little, looking at the ring on my hand. "It means little mouse.”


End file.
